Call Me Daddy
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: What will ever happen to Barbara Havers and Thomas Lynley, after the BBC has ended their investigations? Read to find out.... This is my take on their new investigations.
1. Chapter 1

**The**** Inspector**** Lynley**** Mysteries**

Call Me Daddy

Author: Xeen

_Note:_

_I'm new to this franchise and I never read any Elizabeth George book so I guess what I will write can hardly be considered true to the canon. This takes place some time after the end of the TV series._

**--**

**PROLOGUE**

_The shutters were closed. In the distance, some white garden arm chairs, a table and a parasol were the only sign of human interference with the derelict gardens._

_She smiled sadly. Unconsciously, driven by the force of habit, she averted his intense gaze. She turned her back to the house to face the sea. She shivered._

_"I could not ask for anything more during all these years I stayed at your side and you knew I would not, didn't you?"_

_He stood perfectly still, waiting for his personal hell to eventually break loose if she was up to what he was thinking she was. He stared hesitantly at the sea and sighed, his chin sinking to his chest._

_"But after she had died, how could you?" she said. Her voice low, shoulders trembling, she added. "You knew all along that I fell for you right from the very beginning. But you never said a word, didn't you? You even rejected my friendship at some point to turn to vodka or scotch, whatever poison you fancy the most. I'm sorry, but I can't accept your offer. You're too late. I've moved on."_

_"But I'm ready! I was a fool... I was too self conscious to let you into my life! I was afraid of what people would say. Please…"_

_"And now you're not?" she snapped. "Please, Sir, don't insult my intelligence. Everyone knows you're quite the womaniser and I wouldn't have been the first to share your bed. But sleeping around seems all you're capable of, commitment clearly isn't your strong suit or you wouldn't have waited that long to embrace matrimony. She was your friend too, your late wife. Look what it brought her. I pity you. Don't ever try to see me again. I'm through with you!"_

_With that, she left abruptly, leaving him stunned and confused._

_"Ann!"_

_She didn't even slow down._

"Man," a strong voice boomed near her left ear, "talk about soapy!"

The man stretched out his hand and retrieved her headset and his in the same motion and shoved them in the compartment before their legs.

"Enough with this," he stated, "where does British Airways buy that direct-to-dvd stuff anyway? No wonder you lost your empire, this is worse than the worse _Harlequin_ American romance novel," he laughed out loud. "I should know: my mum used to read a lot. And I mean it! I always thought they were cheaper by the dozen but she actually bought them second hand," he winked.

He shrugged to let go of the past and waved a thumb to the back of the aisle. "I'm gonna pay a visit to the facilities this plane has to offer and when I'm done, get ready for a serious drink, Barb!" he grinned.

Barbara Havers blushed instantly and tried to cover her uneasiness at his direct tone by putting a lock of hair behind her ear. She smiled back shyly and nodded. "That'd be great Jack."

"OK, that's my gal! Don't go anywhere: I'll be back in a flash!"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

The Inspector Lynley Mysteries

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

Call Me Daddy

Author: Xeen

_Note:_

_I'm new to this franchise and I never read any EG book so I guess what I will write can hardly be considered true to the canon. This takes place some time after the end of the TV series._

**PART 1**

"Lynley? My office now, please?" Deputy Commissioner Hillier barked.

"Sir?" Lynley put an instinctive distance between Hillier and himself, standing still opposite his desk while the other one intently kept him waiting. "We found a new lead in the Collins case, Sir," he finally offered. "I understand that Stuart Lafferty retrieved a trace of…."

"Havers is due back on Wednesday, isn't she?" Hillier interrupted.

Lynley did not show any sign of annoyance. "I believe she took some extra days off, Sir," he said, "she… will be back to the Met next Monday actually."

"She cleared that with you, I believe?"

"Absolutely Sir, yes, she did."

A bit too loud, a bit too convincing. He heard me hesitate, he thought, making a brilliant show at hiding his embarrassment.

"Very well, then. Now, keep me updated on the Collins case, will you?"

--

DI Thomas Lynley had not heard a single thing from Havers in two weeks. 19 days to be accurate, he said to himself. Not something he was ready to happily volunteer the information with anyone.

This exchange programme with the US police was a vast waste of time. His time and hers. She was needed here. How was he supposed to solve crimes and arrest dangerous criminals without her help? She was his sergeant for Heaven's sake! He had been a fool to indulge her into that programme. He wanted to boost her self esteem so to speak. The moment he realised she had enrolled for the exchange, it was too late to call off his bluff.

When it came to solving crime, she was far ahead those NYPD officers she seemed to like so much. They were not even in the same league. Their techniques were not a bit as sophisticated as ours, we, the champions of CCTV!

However, she sounded very enthusiastic over the phone for the first couple of weeks.

Not that she was not later on.

She simply stopped calling him.

He did not bother him at first. Then he began to miss her late (or very early) phone calls depending on her schedule for the day. But he never questioned himself until he found out she was in fact calling her neighbour Azhar Taymullah on a twice a week basis to have "some serious girlie talks" with Haddiyah. The little girl took him by surprise last week when he was riding through Acton on his way back from a crime scene and she had been very expressive about their lovely conversations over the phone.

Well, she was probably too busy or too tired to call him as well, he thought with a twist of resentment. It was a big step for her to go to the US on her own and to be part of this new experimental programme. She was so excited to leave and to show "the other side of the pond that the Met is in the 21st century of battling crime too, Sir!"

He had eventually taken her to Heathrow, carried her worn out suitcase, resisted to hugging her before she boarded her plane. And now, a very few weeks later, he was no longer part of her new agenda. He felt he had fallen off her radar and he did not know what to do to make things right.

To be perfectly honest, he did not know how to make things back to the way they were before she left, not really to make them right. For that matter, he knew the two of them should have had "some serious talk" of another kind a long time ago.

Probably long before she had found out he was a main suspect in that murder rape case. Bedding his friend's daughter was more than a bad idea, but he was lonely and tired and she was quite outgoing to say the least. What was done was done. But Havers had been bearing him a grudge since then.

**-****--**

"You see, Sir, I tried to help you when Helen died. Gave you plenty of space, reached out to you even. You never bothered. And now you call for my help? That's not fair, Sir."

"I know, Hav… Barbara. I was a fool. What happened was an accident …"

"You mean she tripped and fell down onto the pavement 3 stories down?"

"No, no! Of course not! What do you think, Havers? That I'm hiding evidence or lying on what has happened that night?"

"Are you?"

"You know what I mean to say…"

"Actually I don't, Sir."

She was in police mode. That was bad.

"It was an accident. I was not going to sleep with her that night. I have no idea why I let things go out of control."

He trailed, trying his puppy look on her. To no use.

"An accident, Sir?" she was staring, unblinkingly and clearly outraged.

Now that she had said that, he knew she was more than petulant about his conduct. But he was not even remotely prepared for what she was about to say next.

"'Cause I have the funny feeling that accidents are usually more like, say 'you trip and you sprain an ankle', you see. Not 'you trip and you stick your... thing' in someone," she stated matter of factly.

"I didn't mean an accident as much as a… mistake. Please, Barbara?"

But she had left already.

**-****--**

As far as he was concerned, the main issue was that he had no idea what on earth he had said to piss her off -this time. It could have been anything he had said or not said over the phone.

And then this morning, just as he was back from retrieving his first cappuccino of the day from the machine, there was DSC Winston Nkata showing off his usual extrovert banter to an already conquered audience.

"… intends to visit Paris with a friend on her way back."

"You mean Havers?" Lynley asked, burning his hand on the hot cup.

"Yes Sir! She said it was her best opportunity at taking some leave." Winston suppressed a smirk.

"Evidently!"

"I can't wait to meet the lad she's bringing back with her, Sir."

"Yes, of course…"

She had planned a trip to Paris with some flat foot from NYC and did not even bother to tell. Well, to tell him that is. Considering Nkata seemed to have all the details.

Nursing his coffee, Lynley turned his back on his colleagues, their conversation fading in the distance. He gave an oblique look in the hallway and entered his office. He closed the doors with caution. Not the time to make a fool of himself.

He will merely wait and see. Bury himself into clerical work. Push Lafferty to the limits.

Surely, she will let him know. He was supposed to pick her at Heathrow the day after tomorrow.

She would not stand him up.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_Note: I never read any Elizabeth George book so I guess what I will write can hardly be considered true to the canon. This takes place some time after the end of the TV series._

**PART 2**

Jack Buchanan was the typical New York cop, suave and sassy. Tall, handsome if you like that kind of man: perfect smile, perfect teeth, perfect bleached hair, perfect physical condition. The poster guy.

And funny.

His popularity was viral. He was invited to every party, drinking with the lads at the pub after hours, helping everyone in every possible way. From the PCSO's to every constable, male or female, half the division was already conquered.

Lynley was not. He was certain that Buchanan had a few skeletons in his closets. Haven't we all? In the meantime, Havers was literally walking on air and he admitted to find it very painful to watch. She had had the time of her life at the NYPD obviously. Now her dreams of ever becoming an inspector and go up the ladder was as vivid as exhausting. But she was entitled to a shiny career if only she could manage to hold in check her emotions and outbursts and work with any given partner she would be paired with.

She sent him a fax just in time to spare him the humiliation of ignoring her day and hour of landing back home.

He arranged for a cab.

He thought it would send a strong signal - but apparently Havers missed it. She called him right the minute she set foot in her flat.

"Sir? I'm home! Can't believe I've been gone that long… Thank you for the cabby. Jack was very impressed, cliché-wise, I mean. We're planning to have some standard English diner, would you like to meet us, say 8:30? Jack will be staying at my place. I discovered that I have a room with no defined purpose. I could fill it with all the files I take back home and call it my office but I find it far more exciting to transform it into a guest room. Imagine you won't have to sleep on the sofa next time we will work late on a case! So, 8:30, what do you think?"

As far as Lynley was concerned, she could have stuffed the room with cotton candy or used bus tickets. He could not care less. Next time he would stay over for the night was ultimately fading away in the distance of a very remote future.

He should have seized the day and let her know his true feelings before she left but then he would not have been half the man he was. He would have had to let his guard down in the first place.

Now, whatever might have happened between us never would. She had turned unexpectedly into a completely alien Barbara, levitating around each obstacle with grace in turmoil of good feelings and new skills. Now she was able to show her expertise for the whole world to see instead of keeping it hidden behind her awkwardness and bad temper.

And all this time, I had been barking at the wrong trees. How typical!

"8:30 is perfect! Would you like me to come and take you both to the place of your liking?"

"Oh…"

Lynley heard Barbara asking some indistinct questions in the background. A young male voice answered.

"OK. Come pick us up. We'll be ready!" she finally said. "Thank you Sir," she added and hung up.

--

Maybe that was their idea of a good time but Lynley felt completely out of sync. Not that he was unable to possibly enjoy some kidney pie and thick gravy, rinsed down with a cold mediocre draught ale and water from the tap, but tonight, he was simply not in the mood.

Havers, on the contrary, looked radiant and happy. She had put on some light make up, enhancing her eyes and mouth. Instead of her ever so familiar sneakers and slacks, she was wearing some fancy stilettos, a long dress in the shades of anis green and a modest golden necklace with a small peridot pendant. He spotted a very girly new bag she sat on the back of her chair instead of shoving it anywhere as usual.

He was suddenly feeling tired and old. He was uncertain of how to handle her sergeant's toy boy.

What ever happened to spontaneous collusion? Their once perfect connivance seemed lost. He hardly recognised her when she laughed with caution, her incredible eyes sparkling over her glass. Being so careful was so unlike her.

Suddenly, it hit home. They had tamed her. They had turned his perfect Barbara into an average good looking female and a great professional. That did not suit her. That was sort of unsettling to watch her behave out of character. How odd.

He turned to the back of the pub and saw some agitation going on. Two men were busy installing some sort of karaoke and he remembered the night he almost lost her, the scent of salted water and putrid seaweed when he kept her in his arms, her blood dripping on his sleeve.

"… what do you think?"

"Sorry Havers. You were saying?"

"Did you ever try to sing in public, Sir? That is… exhilarating! Do you mind?"

"Not at all Havers." He was curious. She and Carly Baker, their prime suspect in the murder of that young boy, had a round at karaoke in a local pub while he was in London. Maybe he was back already but he did not know where she was at the time or he would not have missed it for the world. These few days alone with her in that cheap trailer had been pure torture and the best time he had had in years.

Helen knew. She must have put him to the test. Did he ever pass?

Havers was getting ready and waved joyfully from the stage.

"She's a happy bunny, that kid," said Buchanan. He took a sip of his beer and waved back. "Never met someone with that much energy and joie de vivre. She was kinda of our mascot back in New York, you know. Not to mention I can't imagine how my trip to Normandy would have turned out without her. She's a great shoulder to cry on. You must have missed her when she was in New York. She's your partner, right?"

"Actually, she is my DS. But I guess you can say she is, even if it is not entirely accurate according to our standards."

"I'm not going to apologise just yet, I'm getting used to your system even if the sound of it looks very formal compared to what I'm used to. How do you fit in, Tommy? You don't mind me calling you Tommy, don't you? Barb told me you're a Lord? I can't believe I'm actually meeting with a Lord. What are the odds?" he grinned.

Lynley nodded dismissively. He could easily picture what she was seeing in him. Direct and easy going, he was everything Lynley was not.

"You must be a pretty sight the two of you working on a case," Jack stated. "I couldn't help but notice that she still calls you Sir after all this time and you call her… Havers? Male/female partners, I always thought that was the worst law enforcement idea in a million years!"

At that point, Lynley began tiptoeing around the idea of straightening the arrogant bastard once and for all.

"It's hard enough without a matter of… social class getting in the way. I mean, nine times outta ten, they either end up killing or screwing each other!"

Lynley could not believe what he was hearing. Was the guy stupid or just irresponsibly provocative?

"I should know: my wife is in the Force. Was… She was killed in a car crash, five years ago. My three kids in the back seat did not survive. You get tougher Lynley. We never caught the guy. The car had been hijacked, part of a bank robbery which had turned wrong. A dozen dead, including two cops and my family. No finger prints, no DNA, no nothing. You get tougher, you'll see."

"Please, welcome Barbara to our karaoke night!" a voice loudly echoed in the pub. "How are you tonight Barbara?"

Literally saved by the bell.

Lynley was left panting from the revelation. Buchanan was nothing like he had imagined. He was straight forward and articulate. He turned his attention to the stage with a forced smile, trying to forget the deep scrutiny he was under.

Havers stooped. "I'm fine, thank you," she said in a distorted voice Lynley hardly recognised.

"So, Barbara, did you chose what you're going to sing for us?"

"Yes Sir. '_The winner takes it all'_."

"Abba!" the guy shouted. "What a great song to start our night! Please give a big round of applause to Barbara. You're not a professional singer, are you?"

She blushed. "No, I'm a civil servant."

"Fine then, I leave you to your public. Ladies and gents, I give you Barbara!"

Lynley turned his chair to watch her without twisting his neck. Buchanan was already clapping and whistling vigorously.

"_I don't wanna talk_

_About the things we've gone through_

_Though it's hurting me_

_Now its history_

_I've played all my cards_

_And that's what you've done too_

_Nothing more to say_

_No more ace to play_"

Lynley's heart skipped a bit. His hands went cold. The song could not be coincidental or he was turning into a delusional paranoid bloke.

"_The winner takes it all_

_The loser standing small_

_Beside the victory_

_That's her destiny_"

Was there a message? Did she intend to sing for him? Resisting the temptation to go downstairs and hide inside the gents, he resumed his control and inhale deeply. Actually, she had a good singing voice, powerful and steady. She seemed to enjoy herself a great deal.

"_I was in your arms_

_Thinking I belonged there_

_I figured it made sense_

_Building me a fence_

_Building me a home_

_Thinking I'd be strong there_

_But I was a fool_

_Playing by the rules_"

Playing by the rules. How could she….

"She's good," shouted Buchanan in his hear, "and a looker too," he winked. "Man, was she popular with the boys. Never let anyone come real close, though," he added, staring at Lynley with a smile.

Lynley smiled back politely, not losing his perfect composure. Maybe Buchanan didn't mean to be rude but fishing for some information or verifying a lead. This man was obviously on a mission. Havers must have been very talkative in NYC and confide into him.

"_The gods may throw a dice_

_Their minds as cold as ice_

_And someone way down here_

_Loses someone dear_

_The winner takes it all_

_The loser has to fall_

_Its simple and its plain_

_Why should I complain?_"

If she was intending to send a message, he was unsure which message that was. Maybe he was trying too hard. There were probably more ghosts in their relationship than meet the eyes but she always understood. Did she not?

"_But tell me does she kiss_

_Like I used to kiss you?_

_Does it feel the same_

_When she calls your name?_

_Somewhere deep inside_

_You must know I miss you_

_But what can I say_

_Rules must be obeyed_"

"I take it you were her mentor in the Department?" finally conceded Lynley.

"Well not exactly. She had to prove she could be a valuable asset for us before being accepted," he said, eyes locked on the distant petite figure. "You know how these exchange programmes work, don't you? It's not so much what the newcomer can learn but in terms of what he brings with him that can prove to be beneficial." He paused. "She became more of an instant friend, I'd say. And eventually, she won her case when she did demonstrate she was a first class cop. Lots of instincts and guts! Not an unusual combination in a female police officer, you know."

Lynley was proud of Havers and at the same time was striving to get rid of a fluttering feeling: never had he suffered such a jealous sting before.

Instant friend? That was a side of Havers he would have some difficulties to master. But there she was, making a fool of herself on the stage of this greasy pub. And having a ball.

"I see," he said flatly.

"_The judges will decide_

_The likes of me abide_

_Spectators of the show_

_Always staying low_

_The game is on again_

_A lover or a friend_

_A big thing or a small_

_The winner takes it all._"

"So, what is it you're gonna grill me about now, your Lordship?" grinned Buchanan. "If you don't mind, I'd like to report that I'm given a fair treatment."

Lynley was more than capable of acknowledging when it was necessary to relax and go with the flow. He will give Buchanan a chance but he will not be easily convinced. The American sensed the change and gave him a nudge.

"Look at her!"

"Yes. She is…" Lynley trailed.

Yes she was… very different and he, was at a loss.

"... you… you should stop thinking whatever it is you are thinking," he finally delivered. Immediately, he heard that was not at all what he intended to say. What was wrong with him?

"Oh, come on, man!" Buchanan was openly laughing now, "You mean to tell me you have a partner that looks like her…"

"She is not my partner. She is my sergeant."

"Whatever. You have a colleague that looks like her and you still get pissy when guys check her out?" he shrugged. "Maybe you're the one that needs to stop thinking what you're thinking."

"_I don't wanna talk_

_If it makes you feel sad_

_And I understand_

_You've come to shake my hand_

_I apologize_

_If it makes you feel bad_

_Seeing me so tense_

_No self-confidence_

_But you see_

_The winner takes it all_

_The winner takes it all..._"

"Ok. Truce. Are you ready for another beer? My treat," said Lynley.

He turned to Barbara who was hurrying back to their table. The crowd was cheering enthusiastically at her. She was sporting a very seductive rosy glow and trifling with the customers on the way.

It was going to be a bumpy road to win her back now that the world had discovered her.

-o-

_Please please tell me what you think!!_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_Note:I'm new to this franchise and I never read any EG book so I guess what I will write can hardly be considered true to the canon. This takes place some time after the end of the TV series. I'm just burrowing the characters for a little walk...  
_

…..

**PART 3**

God! It was good to be back. London, the Thames, everything printed in your mind's eyes that tells you're home.

She had missed her small flat, to her utter surprise. Though she never pictured herself as owner material in the past, it turned out it was only buyer remorse. She was never taught she could own her own place and be happy with it. In consequence, she did not bother to really settle in and most of her things were still packed up and stored against the walls or behind the sofa.

Fortunately, she had had some time to tidy the place before leaving 5 months ago and she was proud to show Jack her "property".

This time, no danger of misplaced underwear, she had double checked.

Jack had been right beside her at every step of the way during her training in the NYC force and she was forever grateful for his patience and what had become ultimately a true friendship.

Not to mention lots of appreciative looks from female strangers when they occasionally picnic in Central Park or stroll down the streets to wear off the stress of the day.

She had missed her neighbours and sweet little Haddiyah. They had spent hours on the telephone, making plans for when she's back home, going through tough history lessons or puzzling math quizzes.

She had missed her mother so much, though the poor soul could hardly remember her family, the loss of her husband, of her son and that her visiting daughter was very much alive and grieving.

She had missed the quietness and pace of the Met and Winston's cheerfulness.

And Lynley.

She had missed him a lot. More than she was actually allowed to miss him. But no one had to know she was infatuated with her boss.

She turned the ignition key, went down the road and took left to London. Buchanan transportation had been taken care of by Assistant Commissioner Evans. On automatic pilot, she let the car drive her to the Met through the dense morning traffic.

That upper class thingy was not a clear issue any longer, she mused. She was beginning to think SHE had been the issue all along. She had managed to distance herself from Lynley and pushed him repeatedly into Helen's arms because she was sure he belonged with her. She was not so sure any more. After Deborah's mess, he was entitled to happiness and clearly didn't find comfort enough with Helen. When his wife eventually left him, Barbara was by his side all the way but still too afraid of the consequences this type of eerie relationship could muster. Not to mention the Met, the colleagues, well life as it was. Sleeping with her boss was out of the question. Despite her growing attraction, she had chosen instead not to act upon her feelings for him.

When she was in New York, she thought it was normal to keep him updated, as her boss, on her life, her achievements and the fun she had, getting used to new techniques, making new friends, discovering sceneries she had seen but on the telly in _The Sopranos_ or _Sex and the City_. She could feel that Lynley was actually very happy with her actual success and capable of having with her light and funny conversations over the compared merits of Miranda and Carrie. She relaxed. Too much.

She was not ringing her boss for updates, she was confiding in a deeply missed lover.

This decision was the hard part in her being away but talking to him every day was more uncanny than the dreadful doubt she drowned into every time, after hanging up the phone.

Was he merely being polite?

Did he enjoy talking to her as much as she did?

Out of fear of being rejected in the end and aware she was only filling the void by constantly trying to second guess him, she stopped calling, adding withdrawal to longing.

He did not bother to call her on her mobile to make sure she was all right.

Well, he did bother, she pondered. Twice. She had missed both his calls and technically, she was the one who did not return them.

She intended to provide him with no explanation then and she would bet he would never ask for one when she gets back.

That was the trouble and exactly why she had stopped calling him in the first place: the constantly being kept in the dark part.

She flashed her ID to the control panel and waited for the parking doors to open and then engaged 4 stories down. She was getting more and more nervous at the prospect of crossing his path in the lobby or at the coffee machine.

She had been wearing her heart on her sleeve at some point and he might have known for certain she was smitten. He chose to go back to Helen which was the right thing to do, she thought. They shared not only education but also the same taste and the same interests. From her observer point of view, they were very similar. Only Helen was always the warm one.

Nothing really scratches the veneer of his strict upbringing, she said to herself biting her inner cheek to the pulp. His promises came back empty after she gave everything she had, to fight and to defend him. I never asked him for anything, how could he guess?

She stopped at her usual parking spot, put on the parking brakes and sprang out of the car, slamming the door shut. That was funny they kept it for her. She checked her watch: with all the daydreaming, she was almost late.

This exchange programme had been her wake up call. Whatever might have happened between us, didn't, wouldn't and never will.

And the fact is: they were friends.

At least, she was hoping they still were.

There is a thin line between friendship and love… maybe she was mistaken from day one. From the day she watched him erratically chasing his lost love in that meadow actually.

She got on the lift and punched the button. Back to business.

--

Since she had been back, they had worked on different cases. Donald Connelly became her partner in the 'moonlight rapist' case when Lynley was away in Wales on a quizzical family murder. On that one, they teamed him up with the local police.

Then, she was away in Glasgow to investigate a kidnapping with Sergeant Jimmy Durant.

By the time she was assigned to a double homicide in Oxford, five weeks later, she was totally frustrated.

Working had lost its appeal.

She was missing Lynley professionally too.

She began to toy with the idea that the NYPD would be more than likely pleased if she decided to enlist. At least, it would be a clear cut and an entirely new life.

--

Jack Buchanan had known from the start that she had a very serious crush on Lynley. His Lordship was all she could talk about except for the usual suspects: work, stress, fatigue. Their getting together at the pub, that first night back in London, was his idea to begin with.

"Let me test the guy, Barb, make sure he's into you and that he's right for you. I'm good at these things. You remember Clyde Banks, 7th precinct? Happily married 11 years. 6 kids. Entirely my doing, well not the kids, mind you!"

"I'm not a fan of marriage Jack," she protested. "I told you already. For weeks, he wouldn't stop 'havisham' me. And then he slept with miss pretty pants, clean as a whistle, tight ar… and asked me to get him out of the mess he had put himself into!" she snapped.

"Barb, you're overreacting, that doesn't suit you. Don't let jealousy or whatever rage you feel cloud your judgment. You're better than these cheap feelings." He hugged her. "Call him right the minute we're back and I promise I'll find out for you."

The American detective knew all the tricks and Lynley was one of the kind. Despite his perfect manners and posh accent, there was fire burning high behind the mask of the perfect gentleman. He applied the necessary pushes in the right places and watched Lynley react.

"If I have not lost my touch," Jack grinned, "you and Lord Charming are the perfect match. I'm 300 percent behind your pairing Barb and I offer my backing anytime!"

Should she ever need it…

--

"Wanted to see me, sir?" Lynley asked, poking his head out of the door inside Evans' office. "I am in a rush. I promised Thompson I will help him sorting out his files on the Devonshire case, you know, the three brothers…?"

Evans waved him in impatiently. "Sit down Tommy. I reckon you haven't heard."

"Heard Sir? I was interviewing witnesses down in Bromley. We just finished canvassing the area…" he began, sitting down gracefully on the seat opposite his superior.

The Assistant Commissioner silenced him at once. "Tommy, I don't want you to find out from anyone else but me."

Lynley paused, sensing urgency in Evans' tone, no anticipation whatsoever reflecting into his poised attitude.

"Havers has been into an accident, we don't know yet whether it's serious. We found blood, a lot of blood actually," he added, mumbling to himself.

"When?" Lynley snapped.

Was she all right? Even to his ears, his voice sounded hollow.

"Less than two hours ago. I need you on the case Tommy."

"What case?" Lynley was pondering the information. He should have had this conversation with Havers long ago. I would never forgive himself if anything had happened to her.

"She has been sent to Cornwall last week. The Parishioners' Choir case?"

Lynley nodded absently. She was in Cornwall. Maybe she's gone to Howenstow to pay a courtesy visit to his mother. He knew the two of them had forged an unforeseen bond.

"Apparently, her car was rammed into by an armoured truck," Evans added. "The truck was found only 4 miles away from the crash site. The paint recovered from the truck matches Havers' car. She was probably on something. From my point of view, this accident is clearly case related."

"Where was she taken, Saint Michaels? West Cornwall?" asked Lynley.

"Oh… Tommy… you don't understand, we found her blood, we did not find her…"


	5. Chapter 5

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_Note:_

_I'm new to this franchise and I never read any book written by Elizabeth George so I guess what I will write can hardly be considered true to the canon. I'm only borrowing the characters for a little ride… and I keep in mind what Nat Parker (jokingly) said: "I would have ended _the series_ with Lynley and Havers holding hands and walking off into the sunset."_

_This takes place some time after the TV series__ ends. I'm just playing with the characters. No harm done.  
_

--

**PART 4**

"Barbara, of course, I will be delighted! I'm leaving for Brighton in the evening, but I will be happy to see you, say, one o'clock? If you don't mind sharing with me a frugal meal of cucumber sandwiches and roast beef leftovers. I let my people go yesterday, so I cannot offer you a proper hot meal, I'm afraid," said Lady Asherton.

Barbara fanned her map across the passenger seat and rummaged inside the glove compartment to fetch a box of tissues. Her nose had been bothering her since she had hung up the phone, reminiscence of her younger days. Ringing Lynley's mother had been an on the spur of the moment kind of thing.

She had been bracing herself but emotions were running high and her nose had given up on her. Now blood was dripping on her lap, on the map, on the seats of her rental car.

She left the hotel, her sleeve pressed to her nose. She would have to find a store along her route; she was already too late to go back to her room and change.

Three miles away from Saint Agnes, she spotted a truck in the rear-view mirror, slightly zigzagging and closing fast behind her. When she decided to pull over she was not rapid enough. The truck collided into the side of the car, pushing it violently off the road. She hit hard on the brakes and clutched to the steering-wheel.

She felt like a bobble head toy.

Before she realised what was going on, she was crushed between airbags, air suddenly expelled out of her lungs.

She lost consciousness.

--

According to the preliminary plan set by the Met, they had to concentrate on the main leads Havers had been following during the past few days. Standard procedure.

Even now that the gang had been arrested and her investigation was over, there was always the risk of an accomplice left behind looking for revenge.

Going through the files repeatedly, trying to find a pattern in her investigation.

Despite the oversized amount of paper work Havers had generated for the local police benefit, she had kept the case mostly to herself, apart from two very scarce reports to London.

For starters, her assigned Cornish colleague was on sick leave from day one. His eventual replacements had not fancied working with a workaholic from the Met.

Lynley felt a strong puff of anger. He could translate very easily: the locals prefer to keep the case to themselves, away from London and their female detectives.

--

The stench woke her up. She was lying in the dark on a damp ground. Apparently, she had been left inside a vast unknown structure. Nonetheless, she could feel a small breeze of rank air on her legs.

The angle was not right and she could not see outside though.

Tied at the ankles and the wrists with synthetic ropes, she could not move easily but at least she could; she discovered that it did not hurt her much as long as she didn't try to free herself.

She rolled over to get a better view at the place and her head banged on a sharp edge of metal. She rested still for a while, waiting for the pain to soothe.

So much for not being injured, she thought, I'm not going to wound myself now, when the guys from that armoured truck dumped me here without a scratch. Yet, she felt a little 'hangovered', probably from the chloroform they used to keep her quiet.

She managed to sit up and peered with narrowed eyes to see through the residual smoke. The lack of light and sounds of any kind was very unsettling. An old barn or a derelict building of some sort, she thought.

The eluding shapes were difficult to process.

She inhaled deeply but a lingering acid smell of manure only made her cough. Her eyes were sore from the reek. She could not conclude between partially burnt decayed corpses of animals or drying swamps with a whiff of scorched trees, maybe elm trees, she thought. Now that she had turned her back to the wall, she could see the outline of the trees against the sky. She closed her eyes, yet breathing heavily.

If her captors had decided against gagging her, that was for a sensible reason. Probably not a soul to hear her screams in a one or two mile radius. That means there would mean neither road nor river in the near vicinity.

Evans or the local police (or both) might have sent their people to look for her. They must be searching for her right now and they were going to surprise her and be here any minute... or perhaps they had to call off the search parties because of the night. Most likely, she will have to spend the night here and to wait for dawn to make a move.

No need to panic: it was early autumn, she was not going to freeze to death during the night.

Surely, they have figured out that the paint on her car belonged to an armoured truck, how could they not? Or possibly, the truck was abandoned after the accident and they already found a match with the paint from her rental and caught the guys. She must have been gone less than 5 hours, she pondered. Maybe 8, tops.

In the end, going to Howenstow had not turned out to be the bright idea she had believed it would in the first place.

--

"There is someone here to see you, sir," said the local constable.

Lynley looked up to see a small ordinary woman in her late twenties, reddish hair, with an oval face.

"I have to go, mother," he said, pointing a finger to the woman and turning his back to her to finish his conversation over the phone. "I thank you for your help. Yes, err... yes, of course, I will let you know right the minute I… the minute we find her… of course mother, bye now…"

He put his mobile back in his pocket swiftly and turned back to the constable.

"Yes?" he snapped unintentionally.

"There is someone here to see you, sir," she said again, turning as red as her hair. Her superiors told her that Lynley was a Lord she was not sure of the proper attitude.

"Let him in," said Lynley with a smile. He could not let his anguish be in the way. "Thank you, constable."

She smiled back and left.

"Sorry sir, but I think that I should have talked to you sooner," said the man. Medium height, 60ish, patched clothes.

"Is that so?" said Lynley gesturing towards the man. "Please, have a sit, mister..."

"The name is Barstow, sir, John Barstow. My farm is right across them depot. You must know of that armoured truck which was stolen this morning, don't you?"

"I most certainly do."

"Errr... I sorta think I know who dunnit."

"Rampage DS Havers' car?"

"I don't know nothing 'bout the car, sir. I came forward on account of the truck only. They told me I should talk to you," he shrugged.

"You know… who's done it, then, stole the truck?"

"Maybe," said the man cryptically.

"Either you do or you don't," said Lynley flatly, leaning towards the man over the desk, fighting a rush of anger.

"If you ask me, I would say it was the Terndell boys."

Lynley relaxed against the back of his chair.

"The mother used to work for the company as a clerk a couple of years ago. They had to let her go. There had been arson attacks on the warehouse, see," he grimaced and went for air. "All scum, like father, like sons. I saw them three at the depot, 'round fivish or so, hardly day. Plastered and prolly high on glue as well, see?" He paused and took a deep breath again. "Then, they went out of my sight for say half an hour. I was going out to the village for me smokes, and then I saw the truck going from one side of the road to the other, right behind me, see. They nearly rolled me over. They were heading to Saint Agnes. Well, that's it. Hope that helps, they told me there was a reward…"

"What can you tell me about the father, mister Barstow?"

"He was in jail for some time. When he went back, his wife had divorced him and left with the daughter. Wouldn't know where, though, it's been a while."

"You mean she left the boys by themselves?"

"No, no! Of course not! There was the uncle. A drunk. Living on the dole and some smuggling. Nothing big, just to pay for the liquor, see."

"Where can I find him?"

"At the cemetery in Saint Agnes. He died 3 years ago."

Lynley was getting impatient. "And the father?"

"Works at the gas station. Most days, morning only though. Stays at the pub in the afternoon, when he's not at the tracks."

"Have you seen him recently?"

"Let me think… On Sunday, he said to Mike he needed to move some possession real fast."

"Mike?"

"Me son-in-law. Not smart but works hard, Mike, if you ask me."

"And?"

"Mike asked me for me truck then but I said no. I knew it was Terndell's idea. Overheard at the pub, see. Won't let a scum like Terndell touch me truck!"

"Have you seen Terndell anywhere near the armoured truck today, mister Barstow?"

"Can't say I have. But them kids left it at the gas station, for sure. And Terndell was not at the pub today."

"But you never saw Terndell drive the truck, only his sons?"

"Hey! I'm just looking to help: never said I saw nobody driving the truck. But they might have, see. Now, what about the reward, sir?"

--

She had been dozing on and off for the best part of the day. The breeze went stronger and eventually drove away the smoke.

She suddenly felt more comfortable, warmer. She opened her eyes.

From outside of the barn, a flaming blaze blinded her. She tried to stand up but her legs had gone numb. She clenched her fists and pulled at the rope only to realise she could have got rid of the restraints easily.

She worked on freeing her hands first. The men had proven to be more careful with the ropes on her ankles. It took her a good ten minutes to be on her feet.

She secured the rope around her waist with two loose knots then checked her pockets. Her ID was gone, so were her phone and wallet. She only found a blooded tissue she discarded impatiently.

Burnt fumes now covered the pungent smell of rotten hay. The haze had obscured the view; suspended particles were saturating the air. She pressed her coat to her mouth and nose and gulped avidly only to choke because of smoke and heat. The evening winds must have revived a bonfire and spread it through the land; there was no way she was going to get out of this alive, she thought.

She took refuge towards the farthest part from the front of the building in a desperate attempt to find another way out.

--

At 6 pm, Lynley decided to take a break from the local police. He took his files and headed back to his hotel room.

A small German roadster stopped, tyres screeching in the alley in front of the police station. The tall Jack Buchanan sprang out and in a few strides was to Lynley's side. He shook hand with him vigorously.

"I thought you could use some back up, Lynley," he smiled. "Do you mind if I tag along? I heard you know the place…"

He gave the place a circular look and combed his hair with both hands, stretching his body and embracing the village at the same time.

"I drove all the way here from London, can you believe that? Honestly, almost forgot the driving on the left of the road part at some point. Anyway, I'm well and alive and I intend to help you find Barb well and alive too. Anything new since we talked on the phone?" he asked, slamming the car door shut. "No one knows anything, I bet? Small towns, big secrets. Same thing on our side of the pond." He pressed the key and the car blinked and beeped.

"I agree. Something came up this afternoon, though, a man who gave me the name of some likely perpetrators, but I'm afraid we won't go very far with this. Three brothers, 14 to 17, drunk and possibly high on toluene. They have been locked up after a brawl in a pub around midday. They confessed they stole the armoured truck. They didn't even bother to conceal it and we found their prints all over anyway. Ultimately, they abandoned the truck at a gas station half a mile away later to steal a sedan. We retrieved it on a car park near the pub. No finger prints from Havers in the sedan. We are searching for DNA but it is going to take some time."

"Time we don't have," added Buchanan. "And in and out the truck? No prints but theirs?"

"Lots of them on the contrary," confirmed Lynley. "Five sets we can already trace back to the teams who operate the rotation of the armoured truck. Some extras which belong to the owner and you can throw in the mix a few partials from unknown origin. As for Havers, she had a rental car. We are not finished matching prints from the sweep with our files."

"So we don't know who burrowed the brinks after the boys left it at the gas station?" asked Buchanan. "Why would they bother to steal a truck to leave it in the open only five minutes later?"

"We found Havers' ID and some of her personal things in the truck, so we can place her there at some point. And the father works at the gas station. We're looking for him at the moment."

"You don't have anything conclusive yet?"

Lynley went so pale, Buchanan wished he had never asked in the first place.

"No. Whoever took the truck is our prime suspect. It could be the father…"

"OK, your Lordship, it's time to get our act together then. But first thing first. I have to fuel the engine. Could you point me to your hotel? I could use a shower and some food!"

--

"I'm starving!" declared Buchanan, sacking down at a table near a bow window in the empty hotel dining room. "It's only 7 but I haven't realised I was so low on carbs… So, what is on the menu…?"

Lynley nodded absently, aware that the American was attempting to cheer him up, aware he might be a living display of total devastation. He was lost in his track of thoughts, trying to make sense of bits and pieces that would not match.

Havers had been gone for almost 8 hours now. He knew all too perfectly that the first 24 hours were crucial to finding her; and he could not find even a single valid clue.

He was not ready to lose heart though. There had been no ransom demands, no threats. He had spoken to his mother and she had confirmed that Havers was in for a surprise. They had found some photographs in her car that confirmed her intentions.

"We'll have two drafts and your special," Buchanan said loudly.

"No, please, I will have a bottle of Merlot and your soup of the day…" Lynley pondered, "and a side course of peas and mash."

"I didn't realised you were a veggie."

"I'm not. I'm not hungry that's all."

"Worried?"

"Err…"

"Man! You can say you're worried! If it was my partner missing, I would be worried sick. I wouldn't let the locals sleep or eat until she's back. We will find her," he added with a large smile when the waitress sat his beer on the table. "Keep them coming, love, the night is young," he winked.

She must like Buchanan a lot. From what I gather, they shared more in five months than we have in six years, Lynley thought with envy.

"I'm more than worried, Jack, I'm afraid I've lost her," he said, his face expressionless but his knuckles white on his glass of wine. He sipped quietly, eyes locked on the American's. "She wanted to show my mother some photographs from New York," he said, reaching out for something in his pocket.

He shoved a bunch of photos on the table.

"And some others…"

Apart from the four or five typical tourist photos taken in New York on which she was smiling in front of the precinct or the entrance to the top of the statue of Liberty, or the ones with Jack in Central Park and on the ferry to Long Island, they were all Tommy's and Barbara's: working together on various cases in the field or at the Met and quite a few taken in a cosy cottage, Buchanan suspected to be Lynley's family home in Howenstow.

He took a good look at them, his face an open book.

Well, Barb intended to show or give the photographs to Lady Asherton, Buchanan thought. No doubt she was up to something. He was just surprised she had not taken the time to tell him what.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_Note: The characters__ obviously belong to Elizabeth George. I invented some of my own for dramatisation purpose. _

"_I would have ended _the series_ with Lynley and Havers holding hands and walking off into the sunset." _Nat Parker

--

**PART ****5**

"Robbie Terndell has been an addict for the best part of his life," Dr Morrow asserted.

Dr Morrow was no more than 35 and keen to share information and methods.

"My predecessor tried to 'cure' him of his addiction, as he would say, by locking him up for days, right here, in his study, behind the practice. He kept a camp bed there, and some blankets. Fortunately, these barbaric times are over!" the physician added, anger written all over his face.

Dr Morrow was perfectly clear. Lynley and Buchanan acknowledged with a nod he did not condone his predecessor medical conduct.

"I'm glad you came to me. There's no harm in finding out about drugs," Dr Morrow continued. "The more people know about drugs, the better, that's my motto. You would not imagine all the family problems not to mention drug related crimes that we encounter here in Cornwall, even in remote villages."

Lynley nodded quietly. Sometimes, it was best to let the witnesses talk of their own volition.

"I tried to put Terndell on methadone and I believed that he stayed in the substitution programme for some time; however, after a few months, he started to sell his prescription drugs in exchange of crack cocaine; and he would supply clubbers and students with this crack to sustain his own abuse."

"His own abuse?" asked Lynley.

"He was hooked on Methylamphetamine, but my guess would be that you commonly referred to it as d-methamphetamine."

"Ice?" asked Buchanan.

"Yes, ice, or glass, Tina and Christine, yaba, crystal meth, you name it. Just when you thought that crack cocaine was your worst nightmare, there is meth. Not only it can be taken orally, injected but also smoked just like crack," said Dr Morrow.

"Your point?" asked Lynley.

"It hits ten times harder than crack," said Buchanan. "It's highly addictive and its effects are real longer than crack. But the major point: it's cheap."

"Exactly," confirmed the physician. "Crystal methamphetamine typically has a higher purity level and produce longer-lasting and more intense physiological effects. The drug causes a rapid heart rate and a rise in blood pressure. The higher the dose, the greater these effects," Dr Morrow sighed. "If you overdose, you may suffer a stroke or lung, kidney and gastrointestinal damages can develop; then there's coma, possibly death, and that's for the medical aspect."

"On the other hand, you can add to the mix paranoia, delusion, increased libido, psychosis, violence, a pretty cocktail that can easily lead to act against the law," concluded Buchanan. "Man, if that Terndell guy really snatched Barb, we better find him asap! He is a time bomb…"

--

"OK. To sum it up, this Terndell guy is a drug addict, a thief and probably an arsonist; he likely makes some pocket money from gambling on horses, he's a father of four and we damn well know he's missing," said Buchanan.

Buchanan had been clearly disapproving the way of the Met and of the local police to beating around the bushes since the beginning. As far as he was concerned, Lynley did not mind his reaction. As a matter of fact, he did understand his American colleague's anxiousness to get back to the field.

However, he knew better: routines he was used to while investigating murders had proven to be quite efficient, more efficient indeed than losing sight of the final target by looking under every stone.

The two men were back to the hotel. It was definitely quieter than the police station and far most comfortable.

Piles of files were stacked on the tables around them. The restaurant was open on evenings only and they had the place all to themselves.

"The question is: why would he need an armoured truck? He drove away from the gas station around nine yesterday morning. What for? Was he high? Is it drug related? Was he planning to go to the tracks?"

"He won't need a car to place a bet," said the American. He sipped on his tea, sat his cup back on the table and added a teaspoon of sugar.

"No, he won't. But let's see if anything unusual happened yesterday in this line of business."

--

"I'm not entirely sure it is related to your case, Inspector," said the Commander Morris, a slight worry in his voice, "but your officer has been gone for almost 24 hours now, this lead seems as good as any at this point."

"I'm listening," said Lynley.

Lynley was in the Commander's office with Buchanan for a routine check of their respective findings. He was facing a man in his late fifties, sporting an unusual yellow moustache and a bad toupee.

"You understand there was a fire yesterday near Redruth,' Morris explained. "Our firefighters miraculously saved two farms from annihilation but an old barn was burnt to the ground last night."

"You are obviously linking the arson to Terndell?" asked Lynley.

"Indeed, I reckon you have issued a search warrant in the name of Robert Terndell. When I was only a young constable, years back, I recall he used to keep that barn handy to go get high with his mates or entertain some lady friends. He was in his twenties at the time."

Lynley did not move an inch but Buchanan rolled his eyes, took his mobile out of his pocket and ostensibly checked his text messages.

"He was very popular on different accounts. We were told several times that he kept some merchandise there but we never found anything."

Even to Lynley, it was getting old. Morris let go of his files and addressed the two men directly.

"Chief Fire Officer Dugan gave me some intel: they are pretty sure it was arson last night. Well at least someone started a fire and left it unattended and it could have been an accident," the Commander pondered. "His men gathered a few crack pipes in the debris and evidence of a bonfire set up next to the barn."

"That's a very thin piece of evidence," Buchanan said icily.

"I tend to agree," Lynley added quietly.

"… and they found that."

The Commander opened his left drawer and pushed a large sealed plastic bag across his desk.

"It could be nothing, but I would like you to take a look at it."

Lynley nor Buchanan could let their eyes away from the piece of brown fabric. It was what was left of a sleeve and part of the upright neckband of a very familiar cheap coat.

"As you may see, it's from a woman's raincoat," asserted the Commander, "probably left there months ago," he shrugged.

Lynley opened his mouth then decided against adding a comment.

"They found a bloodied tissue as well, inside the barn. Why didn't it burn, I fail to understand, if you ask me. Anyway, the sample has already been sent to the lab, we will probably hear from them very soon, just in case we can find a match with DS Havers' blood."

Lynley nodded. Buchanan kept fidgeting with his phone, pale as a ghost.

"The raincoat is definitely Havers', Commander. And I can only assume that the blood on the tissue is hers as well. Anything else on Terndell?" asked Lynley, his voice toneless.

"A horse breeder near Camborne reported that someone broke into his stud farm and tried to steal a foal by… let me find it," Morris rummaged through the piles of papers on his desk, "sorry, lots of… here you are: the sire's name is 'Young Hank Clayton'."

Lynley could not help producing a shrill sound between his teeth.

"I had no idea 'Young Hank Clayton' was bred here…"

"Yes. I'm told he's quite the champion," said Morris. "The fact is that the description Mrs Martyn provided us for the truck matches the one stolen from Tregeagle's. She did not have a good look at the man unfortunately."

"I imagine the foal is safe?" asked Lynley.

"Yes, never got near the young. He was immediately hounded away by the dogs, a couple of magnificent Old English Mastiffs, if you ask me."

"I see… anything else?" hissed Buchanan who was fighting against the urge of leaving the place and having some space to think.

"Well, nothing much after that. No sign of Terndell. Only that he was at some point on Saint Agnes road. But there's something you must know about the fire. Chief Dugan's men retrieved a body not far from the barn. Hardly identifiable though, almost burnt to charcoal."

Lynley stopped breathing and his chest ached fiercely for a second.

No.

It could not be.

"Dr Loomis, our forensic pathologist, will still have to decide whether the body is male or female," said Morris. "If she's lucky, she will even get a partial dental match."

"Could it be Terndell?" asked Buchanan without a trace of expression.

"It can be Santa Claus or Amelia Earhart, if you ask me. I haven't seen the body, but from what I understand, how they managed to get it to the morgue in one piece is already an achievement in itself."

--

"She could have left her coat in the barn and walk away," said Buchanan.

"Just like that?" said Lynley.

He was pacing in front of the local pub, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets, his coat floating behind him, his hair dishevelled.

"You can do better," he snapped.

"I know, I know. I'm a disgrace to the force and a poor impression of a detective, but she's my friend and last time I checked, she was yours as well. The local police prefer to tend their gardens and to go AWOL than helping us… if you ask me," he added in a rather good impersonation of Morris.

"Now you're being unfair. Half the force is searching the area," Lynley prompted.

"That means less than 20 people and some unreliable volunteers."

Lynley sighed.

"Please spare me the helpless self indulging scenario, Buchanan. She's not dead. She cannot be, I would know," he added quietly, more for his own benefit than for Buchanan's. "She is out there, she is injured, she is cold and she needs m… us."

"Only if you suppose that it is our main suspect that has turned into barbecue material," pushed Buchanan.

He waved dismissively at Lynley.

"We don't have a clue of what's happened to her and no solid lead. Seriously, what am I supposed to do? Wait for the forensic results?! No way, man!"

Buchanan started pacing along with Lynley.

"More canvassing?" he suggested. "Now that the missing person poster is everywhere, we'll have some new leads?"

"No. Too many wannabe witnesses. Soon enough, we will be flooded with reported sightings. We have to concentrate on current material at hands. Maybe it's time to go and get our hands dirty."

"You want to inspect the barn again?"

"I would say we shall work on events which happened before the barn. We are not even sure we can place her there. Maybe Terndell got rid of her on his way to the barn when he found out she is a cop."

"Maybe he took her to it exactly for that reason," said Buchanan, "Listen. The way I see it, he was probably high when he took the van or he would not have. From what I understand, the local police keep him on very tight leash. Who would want to rob Mrs Martyn of a pony and to transport it in an armoured truck except someone in an altered state?"

"Yes, you're most likely right."

"Then there are the giant dogs…"

"I understand that this breed is naturally protective of its home and family, and of horses in that matter," Lynley smiled.

"Yep, he was in for a treat by trying to get that foal away from their guard," Buchanan chuckled. "But that most certainly is the reason why he was in an accident right after. He was disoriented because his… "horsenapping" failed and he just drove on from the farm to wherever. I totally believe there was nothing planned. When he rammed her car, he panicked. The car has left the road and there's blood everywhere and…"

"… he tried to help her?"

"Why not?! Perhaps he wants to take her to the nearest hospital, or not," he trailed, "anyway: he must have discovered she's a detective when he puts her inside the van. At least, we can place Barb in the back of that van, we recovered her ID."

"Why not leave her at the site of the accident," whispered Lynley for himself; he closed his eyes and clenched his fists, the epitome of despair.

Buchanan turned to Tommy and took a deep breath. "We know he did not."

"In truth, I do not want to undervalue the outcome nor wrongly accuse Terndell of a blood crime. But I… Sorry, I did not mean to interrupt."

"I understand Tommy. I say we'll catch up with the forensics later. We go back to the road, follow our leads up to the barn and see from there."

"If you're up to it, we shall need detailed military maps."

"Nope, we won't!"

Buchanan sprinted to his car and fetched his bag.

"Here you go," he said, holding a small device in the air. "My very own GPS, complete with the latest updates on every single road or dirt trail of Europe and if I switch this…" he pushed on the side compartment to make the upper part slide and transform into a small keyboard, "hopefully a perfectly valid Internet connection."

"I'll drive," said Lynley.

--

_Please let me know what you think_ :o)


	7. Chapter 7

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

Author: Xeen

_Note: __I'm only borrowing the characters for a little ride… and I keep in mind what Nat Parker (jokingly) said: "I would have ended _the series_ with Lynley and Havers holding hands and walking off into the sunset."_

_This takes place some time after the TV series__ ends._

--

**PART 6**

Every morning, Jory Penhaligon was up à 3:30. As a matter of fact, since the Dairy Collect had been implemented in Cornwall, he needed to collect the tanks only every other day, but what was the point of staying in bed when you can't sleep?

Visiting dairy farms had been his all life. It was painful to think it will come to an end in the near future. Prospects of retirement did not appeal to Jory.

On the contrary, his wife, Morveren, was already planning a magnificent time for the both of them, a female mixture of buying new drapes and going abroad to see Cousin Jack.

Whatever.

He was up, alone in the quiet cosy kitchen after a cold shower, having his 'night meal", as Morveren would put it, of sausage, tomato, poached eggs, hash brown and beans, toast and a full teapot of his favourite strong stewed black tea.

In fact, it was his second helping.

He left the house just in time to see the lights switched on in their neighbours' kitchen. It was 4:30 sharp.

He started the lorry up the hill and smiled. At the wee hours, he was the king of the world.

--

Havers blinked. She was facing the sun and she could not make head or tail from what she was seeing. She tried to reach out to the fleeing shadow before her with no success. She rubbed her eyes.

And woke up.

A huge beetle was heading her way in full swing. She sprang to her feet and took a circular look around.

It was not dawn yet and the moon was playing with the branches of the highest trees. She had obviously been sleeping on a bed of fresh fallen leaves.

She was wearing a torn brown raincoat which was missing a sleeve and smelled of smoke and perspiration. Her sneakers were black from dried mud.

She brushed her clothes in a useless attempt to get rid of dirt and twigs and searched her pockets. They were empty. No money, no ID. The skin of her hands was scratched, bloody and dirty, her nails broken as if she had tried to climb a mountain with her bare hands. And she was famished.

She realized that the morning air was turning chilly. If she did not move out of there fast, she will be soon going to freeze.

She started to walk towards what seemed the end of the woods or at least a clearing. In the distance, she spotted the distinctive sound of a train. For the time being, she wanted to see more of the sky, to find out where she was and to calm her growling stomach. She wiped her nose and eyes with the cleanest part of her sweater, buttoned up what was left of her raincoat, tucked her hair behind her ears, shoved her hands inside her pockets and began to hike to the nearest road.

It took her a long time to get to it. At least, it was somewhere, even if she had no idea where exactly. All she could see was a solitary road, going straight from one point of the horizon to her left to another point of the horizon to her right. Without any sign or indication whatsoever of the direction it headed to or for that matter came from; she stopped in her tracks.

Her left ankle had been slightly sprained and it was going to be a very painful walk, even on the road. She weighed her options: to the left, more woods; to the right, the open moors and meadows; nothing that would give away the smallest hint of which way to go.

She leant against the nearest tree, crossing her arms on her chest to protect herself from the icy wind which had replaced the previous cool breeze and pondered her chances of going back to civilisation with the least efforts possible.

She was feeling so exhausted she could have slept standing. Her back was aching like hell; she bent over to the ground and put her hands on her knees to rest for a while. Yes, it was better.

She sighed, straightened herself and decided against staying put. Too bad for her ankle, it will have to do.

--

Penhaligon checked his watch. He was right on time for the last pick up. He took his listing on the passenger seat, a wad of coloured and very thin paper sheets, retrieved his pen from behind his ear, licked the pen and steadied the wheel with his left elbow and right knee. He looked briefly ahead and slowed down. He scrawled a few letters on top, adding another of his scribbles to the last column. Throwing the bundle back onto the seat, he changed gear to gain some speed and looked ahead.

Only to see a gesticulating and shouting Havers who was trying to catch his attention, fifty feet ahead in the middle of the road.

His heart jumped in his chest and his changed gear again, pushing hard on the break while gently pulling on his parking break. For a moment he thought he had run her over but then he saw her in his mirror, jogging calmly towards him.

"Hello," she said.

Still shaken, he did not know what to do or say. What was she doing on this road at dawn and what did she want from him?

"Hello," he replied cautiously.

"I'm lost," she said plainly.

"I can see that," he growled. "Do you need a lift to town?"

She chuckled. Despite the dirt, the tramp clothes and the dark circles under her large green eyes, she was quite good looking.

"Where are we? Are we near a…" she seemed to hesitate.

"Village. That's the word you're looking for," he smiled "and probably a good bath and some fresh clothes as well."

He could not quite recognise her accent but she was a long way from home. She smiled sheepishly and nodded.

"That would be very kind of you if you…"

"Of course you may tag along!" he said without giving his ulterior concern another thought. "Hop in. There're some sandwiches left in the glove compartment but I'm afraid I'm out of hot tea."

"Thank you."

"If you want to know, the nearest place is Carharrack, I think."

"Carharrack… It sounds Cornish, doesn't it?"

"Yes M'am. That would be a good thing since we are right in the middle of Cornwall. I'm Jory Penhaligon, by the way."

He waited for her to reciprocate some personal details, to no use.

"My wife will take good care of you, not to worry."

She quickly glanced sideward and realised that the man probably thought she was a total headcase. To her utter dismay, she had to admit that last night and even the day before were a complete blur.

"Thank you Jory. I'm…" she stumbled on the idea of a name but it was gone already. "I don't seem to remember my…" she said softly. "… Helen?"

"Helen? Helen, is that right," he said. "Helen?..."

She felt a tantalizing urge to disclose a name but it seemed too far out of reach.

"I am Helen…" she closed her eyes, breathed deeply and, "… Lynley. My name is Helen Lynley," she said with a large smile.

:

_Please, tell me what you think!_


	8. Chapter 8

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_Note: __I'm only borrowing the characters for a little ride… and I keep in mind what Nat Parker (jokingly) said: "I would have ended _the series_ with Lynley and Havers holding hands and walking off into the sunset."_

_This takes place some time after the TV series__ ends._

--

**PART 7**

"What was I thinking?"

It was only Lynley's fourth or fifth outburst for the past hour.

A record, since they had resolved to come back empty handed from their search of the surroundings of what was left of Terndell's barn, thought Buchanan. Apart from digging a trench right here in the middle of the pub, there was nothing more Detective Inspector Lynley could possibly accomplish today except driving him gradually mad with his endless pacing.

Lynley had gone into self centred mode, eyebrows furrowed, a deep crease in the middle of his forehead. There was little left of the polish gentleman Buchanan was accustomed to. After reluctantly nibbling into a bad lettuce tomato chicken sandwich and a handful of crisps, his Lordship had eventually decided to find the light inside a glass of vodka. Well, several glasses, as a matter of fact. Bad habits die hard.

However, Buchanan considered it a limited victory that he had finally managed to switch him from liquor to ale. He retrieved yet another beer from the counter and handed it over to Lynley.

Lynley took it and gave the American an oblique glance. For the time being, he seemed unable to keep his irritation at bay.

"You're one of those players who doesn't show up to the tracks unless they have a horse in the race," he said provocatively.

"I'm just looking to help."

Above all things, Buchanan wanted to avoid antagonising him. Havers had been eloquent enough when it had come to deal with Lynley's bad temper, not that she had not a peculiar temper of her own, he thought jokingly. The thought brought him right back to the task at hand.

"You're not!" Lynley growled.

"We're inside a tangle of leads and every one of them can direct us in the right direction."

"Ah, ah, thank you for stating the obvious!"

"Man, as I said, I'm only trying to help here. I damn think you should go easy on the bottle and call it the night."

For a moment, he thought that Lynley was either going to punch him in the face or hug him. He did neither.

"I'm sorry," Lynley sighed, putting one hand on Buchanan's shoulder. "I… it's been a rough year… you know."

"I know. Barb told me everything."

"I bet she did," Lynley muttered, letting his hand go.

Anger along with a fluttered feeling came crawling back at once on the fringe of his mind.

"She did because we became close friends and because you're his friend too…" Buchanan hesitated, "… and because she couldn't help being concerned by what you've been going through since the moment your wife's been shot," he finally said grittily.

He took a deep breath, perfectly aware he was on the verge of losing his temper too. He would not achieve anything by jumping on Lynley.

"You wanna know what I think? I think she left England to make you proud of her but she never got over the fact that she was abandoning you to your grief," his voice raising to a higher pitch. "She did not renounce helping you because she had to move on with her life or because she wanted to see new places or because she was eager to make new friends. No, she did not! She left to give you some space, so that you may reflect on your relationship… with her."

"But I wanted to boost her self esteem, she's my partner! She knows I will never let her down!"

"Well, technically, she's your DS as you told me once. And theoretically you have… let her down, I mean. Man, it would have been easier to lend her some of your own self esteem."

"How dare you?" shouted Lynley.

The whole pub went silent.

"Man! Come on! You challenged her to get into that training programme in New York." He uttered the name of the city as if spelling every letter. "That's exactly what you did. Didn't you?"

Lynley was livid.

"Yes I did and I still believe it is the best thing which has happened to her in years," he snarled.

"And it's not your fault," Buchanan trailed.

"Don't push me…." said Lynley, dangerously closing the distance between them.

His pint slipped from his fingers and crashed down onto the floor, splashing his Savile Row tailor-made trousers and Church's loafers.

"Right now, I'm not too wild about you either; you don't want to try me, Lynley," Buchanan said with a nod.

Then, he took notice of their fully focused audience.

"Don't mind my father," he said loudly, waving around playfully, dancing from one foot to the other. "He has... dementia. He doesn't even know what he's saying," he shrugged.

Someone laughed out loud in one booth.

"You see?" he insisted, sweeping Lynley away from their curious ears, "you can tell that his mind is gone, come on, daddy."

"Daddy?"

"I bet you never thought you'd hear me call you that," Buchanan said quietly, leading him firmly to the nearest seat.

Lynley obediently slouched down onto a stool and looked at him with a smirk on his face. Buchanan ignored it.

The pub went back to its usual business and instantly the sound of voices, glasses and chairs scraping the floor covered their conversation.

"You know how shy and stubborn she is, always ready to crawl back into her shell or to roll into a tight ball of denial, the way she dresses, the way she sees things… You know everything about her 'petty' life as she likes to say, you know about her family, her Mum, the nursing home. What exactly did you want to accomplish? You never imagined she would pursue. Your vote was a vote of defiance all along."

Lynley stared at Buchanan in disbelief. How could he? He resisted against the renewed urge of hitting him.

"But did you know that she had to sell her car to cover for her expenses? Fortunately, Azhar found some cousins of his going to the "Uni" and interested in a cheap rent for a few months. She had to rent her flat to cover her mortgage; and the guys at the Met put together a little something to get her started. Did you imagine for one minute that she could afford to go over there? It must be so easy to make quick decisions on a full stomach."

"I… had no idea…"

"You had no idea? How could you not? You've been to her place as she's been to yours, for crying out loud! I bet she barely dares to breathe let alone move a finger when she's at your place because she is too afraid to do wrong. You're telling me you can't you tell the difference between Acton and Belgravia? Come on, man, are you putting me on? You're deliberately insulting my intelligence."

It was all Lynley needed to pull himself together.

Everything he wanted to keep at a distance to avoid being harmed was suddenly pouring in, as if a dam has broken down.

The long nights they used to spend on her sofa, stacks of files sat on the coffee table, discussing a case over a bad toast, an instant coffee or a tasteless cup of tea; the embarrassment in the morning when he accidently brushed her arm in the kitchen, the endless stake outs inside the Bristol. God, he misses her. It was one thing that she was abroad or working a case in Scotland or Yorkshire with some local detective but it was another all together that she was M.I.A.

"I HAVE to find her," he said after a while.

"You bet Sherlock, I cannot agree more. But, for now, you're wasted. It's time to get some coffee into you and throw a good night sleep on top of it if you want to tag along and find her tomorrow. Be happy that no other body than Terndell's was retrieved in the vicinity of the fire. You may add to the mix that we had no notice from hospitals. I say it's a good sign. In fact, we should celebrate! She simply cannot vanish into thin air without leaving a trail behind her."

Buchanan hoped he was convincing enough because he did not feel convinced. He was rapidly losing hope of ever finding her.

--

"Thank you Morveren. It is delicious."

"I will give you the recipe if you like, Helen, 'been in the family for generations, you know."

"Oh, I would like that, but I'm not sure I am much of a cook."

"You don't know that dear. You can barely remember your name and you still don't know what you do for a living. As far as we know, you could be a Chef!"

Havers smiled politely. She felt awkward in her borrowed clothes. Her right hand mechanically went over the pleats of the heavy tweed skirt.

"I think I should know. I certainly don't feel like a Chef," she smiled.

"Dear, you can be anything you want," said Morveren. "That's the beauty of it. Maybe, you'll never find out who you were in the first place and you will have to start all over again. I'd like that," she smiled.

Havers was not sure SHE would like that. Losing all her bearings, never finding out who she was and what happened to her the last couple of days, the last couple of years in fact.

"For heaven's sake, Morveren, leave the woman alone! Can't you see she's tired? Maybe if you'd spent the night in the woods in half a raincoat, probably you wouldn't remember anything either."

"I would not remember you for sure, Jory Penhaligon, and I wouldn't want to remember you at all ever again!"

"Is that a fact?"

"Leaving me all alone in the woods?"

"Morveren! It is hypot… hypothe…"

"Hypothetical," said Havers.

"Exactly! Now, let her have some rest. I will call Dr Dugan."

"I don't think I need a doctor, Mr Penhaligon…"

"That is Jory to you!"

"Jory," she said with a smile. "I feel fine. I don't want you to go to all that trouble on my behalf."

"Seen your ankle lately? And your hands? And what about your head? I say when you can't remember where you live or why you sleep in the woods, it's time for a doctor to call on."

"He's right dear. Get some rest. I set a bed ready for you. It was my daughter's room. I'm sure you'll be perfectly comfortable."

"Thank you, I'm sure I will be."

And now she was waiting for the good doctor to show up. Finding herself alone in the flowery bedroom was even worse than the thorough examination Morveren had put her through the entire morning.

It was a girlie bedroom indeed. There was even a curious iris and jasmine scent to match the patterns of the curtains and bed cover. She felt slightly sick to her stomach and she decided to lie down. She was exhausted but she knew she would not sleep; her mind was working non stop to no avail. It only seemed to keep her coming back to the emptiness of her memories.

Was it a sign?

Did she deserve a clean slate?

As far as she knew, she could have broken out of a female prison, escaped from the grasp of a jealous lover or fallen off of a train…

It was the afternoon early hours and she was already desperate for some action. Her memory loss was an unwanted change of pace in her active life, she knew it. No memories of a city, of renting a flat, of a line of work were left. Jory seemed to think she was a Londoner. Her being here, wandering alone in unknown woods in cheap clothes, could it be occupational hazard? She pursed her lips imagining herself being the arm of the law, a successful magistrate or a brilliant detective with Scotland Yard.

No, not a magistrate, she pondered. She did not picture herself as a young urban professional locked up inside a building, day in day out. She'd rather work outside in the open air; and oddly enough, she sensed that magistrate was beyond her area of expertise. Not that she could not acquire that expertise if she put her mind to it, for god's sake, she felt quite fit for the challenge. It simply did not feel right, plain and simple.

If only she could put a name on the tall comforting silhouette she could describe to the last detail, she knew all her memories would come back at once. She did not remember anything else really. She focused on the mental image of the man, slowly and carefully unfolding the layers that kept him locked deep inside oblivion. Nice expensive clothes, educated elocution, dark hair and an infectious smile. Was he a lover, her husband, a friend? He may be paramount to her though. She got lost inside her reverie and eventually fell asleep.

The door bell rang, startling her. It was dark outside. She sat up on the bed and tried to get a grip on herself. She let out a frustrated cry. His name had eluded her again. Tears started running unexpectedly, shaking her body from head to toes, wearing her out. She drew the blanket over her head and went back to sleep in an instant.

"I'm afraid she's still asleep, doctor," said Morveren, taking a look at the crumpled form. "Shall I wake her up now?"

"No, no. Let her get all the rest she can," said the physician in a comforting voice. "It was my last visit anyway. You've done well, M'am. All she needs for the time being is probably more sleep. I bet she'll be all right in the morning," he smiled. "You know we lose a couple of tourists from the big city each year in these damn woods."

"Yes, you're right," Morveren chuckled. "Exactly what Jory told me already. Not that they usually lose their memory though. Well, thank you doctor, we'll see you in the morning then?"

She closed the door behind him and went back to her book.

_Please,__ please! Tell me what you think!_


	9. Chapter 9

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

--

**PART**** 8**

Buchanan rang Lynley's room at 6:30. While his colleague was nursing his hangover, he left the hotel for a three mile run, returned to a long shower and a steaming pot of strong coffee and, at 8 o'clock sharp, was ready to go.

His prospects for the morning, apart from getting his hands on the lab reports and analyse them as thoroughly as possible to make sure nothing else rang a bell, was to have a nice little chat over the phone with the forensics assistants about the cremated body. Lynley will have to deal alone with the Cornish Police.

They met in front of the hotel and he took his rental roadster for a quick ride to the police station. Lynley was all spruced up, and Buchanan could not help thinking he was dressed to kill. But he was Lynley, after all, and it would certainly make a stance with Commander Morris. He could sense that the Inspector was mustering all the strength he had left to keep going. He certainly looked weary and desperate.

A few minutes later, Lynley appeared tired, but calm and steady, displaying his usual perfect poise.

"Lynley, I have to confess it beats me. I was convinced that our search would prove to be rapidly successful. I have to admit I was wrong. "

"Don't apologise Commander, you and your men were perfect. Having the dogs and the helicopter handy was certainly a bonus," commented Lynley dryly. Buchanan's informal speech is certainly rubbing off, he thought.

Commander Morris' face brightened. After his men failed to find DS Havers safe ad sound, he was prepared to take the blame not only from Lynley but from London, no less. Relieved, he gulped down his tea and relaxed back on his chair.

"I reckon you have a plan B, unless you intend to let my Sergeant down for another 24 hours?" said Lynley icily. "It probably occurred to you by now that Terndell either let her go, which is highly unlikely, or killed her. I want to hope that she managed to escape. We know she is injured. How long do you think that she can stay out there by herself?"

Morris' smile froze, his eyes averting Lynley's gaze. It was happening. His career was over, eight months away from retirement. Think. Fast, he thought.

"Err… What about the telly?"

"Anything planned yet?" asked Lynley.

Morris visibly sank in his chair. Without bothering to wait for an answer, Lynley took his mobile out of his jacket pocket and rang Clare Aldon at her Channel 4 News office in London. After what seemed eternity to Morris, he finally rang off and turned back to the desk.

"She sends a local team right this minute. They will be here in..." he checked his watch, "… 50 minutes tops. Get a room ready for the cameras and her technical staff." He stood up. "I'm on my way. I'll be with Buchanan should you need me."

"DI Lynley?"

"Yes, Commander," he said, barely slowing down through the doorway.

"Do you want me to write, err, something?"

"Call me on my mobile when you're set. I will make a declaration for the press. Just be sure that the Met send you a large selection of photographs so that we can choose from recent accurate pictures of DS Havers," he said.

None of the photographs Havers had meant to give her mother would do, he thought.

"… and apply some of your influence on your local radios, they have to work with us, Commander. As a matter of fact, there's not much about her kidnapping that I've heard of on the morning news. I think you should not let them forget her so soon," and with that, he stormed out of Morris' office.

The Commander immediately picked up the phone. The door had not slammed shut yet that he was already barking orders.

--

Jeremy Applegate had decided to discover the world this morning and the unexpected new born had put Dr Morrow far behind his schedule for the day. And now he was having a hard time with Ms Jane Doe. Tousled red hair, sparkling green eyes, strong headed, his new patient was not prone to following blindly his advice and prescription.

"I would prefer to check you into a hospital and make some routine exams," he said.

He placed his stethoscope gently back into his case and retrieved a pen from his jacket. He wrote something on a yellow post-it.

"You think?" asked Havers. She had almost slept around the clock and she was full of energy.

Morrow understood it was only rhetorical. He answered the question anyway.

"Yes definitely. Even if you appear to have no visible physical trauma I would like to perform a few exams just to be on the safe side and make sure everything appears as it is. It will be one day at the hospital, two at most. Obviously, I can't force you to go, but I strongly recommend it."

"And they will find why I lost my memory?" asked Havers.

Morrow was the straightforward type of doctor.

"No. They won't," he said bluntly, "but we might get an idea why you lost it and most importantly find ways to make you recover."

She didn't flinch.

"Ways? You mean like hypnosis?"

"It's certainly an option, though I can't think of any doctor I know capable of performing such a therapy in Cornwall, I'm afraid."

"Doctor, is it permanent?"

She does not let go, he thought. She is persistent and the way she analyze things certainly catches the core of the problem immediately.

"Hard to say," he shrugged, "it can last a day, a couple of months, years even. There's no way to tell really. One day, you might wake up and remember everything. Or remember your old life and totally black out about your new life. It's complicated."

Havers was speechless. She remembered enough of watching medical soaps on television to realize that she was not the first one to lose her memory. But she was not on television. She had not only lost her short term memory, her whole life had been obliterated. She could barely remember her parents and neighbourhood, not enough anyway to pinpoint a place on a map. She was not even sure she did not indulge in fantasies about figments of her imagination at the moment. She shivered.

"Well, if they can't do better than that, I'll pass, thanks doc," she finally said. "Don't keep the emergency services on standby, I prefer to find myself a job here and wait for my life to come back to me."

"As long as you're healthy, let nothing hold you back from starting a new life and making new friends. Maybe the police could provide some help though."

"They could run my fingerprints though the system," she offered, "and check their biometric database, make sure I'm not a murderer or one of them! They probably don't have live scanners over here…"

She stopped awkwardly. What the hell was she saying? Was she a writer? An engineer? A cop…

"You never know," he said after a couple of seconds.

Morrow's answer made her jump. At least he did not notice anything odd, she thought, blinking.

"If you change your mind about the hospital, you know where to find me," said Morrow, handing out the post-it.

Vic Morrow, she read and managed to hide her smile. There was his practice number, along with his mobile and home number.

He shut his briefcase and shook her hand.

"The Penhaligons have my number should you lose it; and I'm in the book too. He calls me Dugan though I replaced him some years ago. You're not the only one who forgets things," he chuckled. "But I have to insist, if you suddenly feel dizzy or sick, please, don't call me, and go directly to the ER. Promise?"

She nodded obediently.

"Don't hesitate to ring me if you need any help or… whatever."

She made an impression, he thought. I'm melting down like a teenager.

"Well, goodbye then Ms… sorry, I'm afraid I did not catch your name."

"Lynley. Helen Lynley," Havers smiled.

"Lynley?" he frowned. "Lynley… I met a Lynley only yesterday."

He hesitated for an instant.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to check that. Penhaligon? Jory! You here?"

Havers followed the doctor to the bedroom door and watched him hurry down the stairs. She found herself running behind him. Could it be possible that he knew who she was?

"He's asleep, Doctor," said a worried Morveren popping out of the leaving room.

Havers heard the muffled sound of a television.

"You know he needs his afternoon nap," she said in a very low voice, glaring at the first floor with concern.

Clearly, Morrow was too agitated to pay attention.

"Mrs Penhaligon, could you ring the police station for me? Please, ask them for that Inspector Lynley from London? Wait, or for the American detective… What's his name? Buchanan! Let me, I'll call the police myself! I just need the number..."

Morrow rushed to the lobby, took the phone book and, reaching out for his cigarettes, he opened the front door. He stepped outside, his mobile phone already tucked to his ear. The sound of his voice faded away when the door closed.

"Lynley, oh my!" Morveren Penhaligon muttered, won by Morrow's excitement and indifferent to the fact that the physician was currently ruining her newly re-arranged flower beds. She seemed no longer upset. In fact, she was positively beaming. Decades of gossip and reading the local press poured out instantly for Havers' benefit. Her face turned a weird shade of scarlet and Havers feared for a moment that she should need Dr Morrow's expertise.

"He must be Lord Asherton's son then!" Morveren wailed. "I can't believe I didn't think of Lady Helen and Howenstow immediately when you told me your name!"

"Howenstow? Who's that? Calm down Morveren, please. I'm sorry but I've never heard of him," she frowned. Not that I can remember anything anyway, she thought. Right this minute, she could have killed for a cold beer.

She helped Morveren back to her seat and slumped onto the sofa facing her. On the television screen, there was a bunch of policemen scattered in a field. The Inspector Barnaby stopped and yelled something she did not understand.

"Howenstow is not a he, dear, it's a where!"

Morveren laughed lightly with a seductive gesture of the hand on her frizzy hair. Havers suddenly felt slightly depressed. She stared through the window above Morveren's shoulder. Now, the physician was gesticulating and shouting. His complexion is going to match Morveren's any minute now if he does not cool down, she thought with a scoff.

"Lady Asherton lives in Howenstow. It's their family estate, see. She lives alone since the old Earl died nearly twenty years ago. The young Earl is not interested in living in the country, he stays in London. He has a townhouse in…" she hesitated, "my goodness, I can't remember dear! Well… and he is with Scotland Yard." Morveren sighed with delight.

"I don't understand," said Havers. "What has it got to do with anything?"

"He is the eighth Earl of Asherton!" she yelped.

"What about him? Lord Asherton? You know him?" asked Havers, puzzled and bored.

"Oh no, Helen dear, I never met him officially. Obviously, I must've seen him at a village fair when his father was still alive but he was just a child at the time."

"Obviously," said Havers. "And you say he's with the Met?"

"Absolutely! It was a bit of a scandal over here when he decided to join the force, I can tell you."

"I see," Havers said flatly, seeing nothing.

"His mother, Lady Asherton I mean, she went to the seaside last Monday; Bath or Brighton, I don't recall. The newspaper said Howenstow would probably be opened to visitors every other week end when she is back."

Havers was losing her serenity. Nothing seemed capable of putting an end to Morveren's ranting. She would have bet that for the first time in years, the woman was actually glad to miss her _Midsomer Murders'_ repeat. Why bother with Inspector Barnaby when you can have the real deal? And a Lord on top of that.

"Thomas Lynley has been in the force since the early 80's, I reckon" added Morveren. "His wife works as some kind of doctor for the police too. Lady Helen Clyde was her maiden name before she married his Lordship. My friend Betsy says they had a divorce but I can't believe he would divorce you, dear."

With that, Morveren wrapped her hands around Havers'. She went pale and quiet. Inspector Lynley, Earl of Asherton? Helen Clyde? It felt weird and alien to her. Where did she fit in? Was she that Helen? And a doctor? No way, she could not be a lady, she would recall.

A woman yelled and Morveren gave a quick look at the television. She gaped in awe and released Havers' hands, momentarily turning her attention back to her beloved Barnaby.

"They are adamant that DS Lynley and his American colleague left the building this afternoon," said Dr Morrow, startling the both of them.

"They are staying in Howenstow till the end of next week."

He was back, perfectly calm and smelling of blonde tobacco.

"I understand a female detective was kidnapped. DI Lynley joined the investigation two days ago to help the local police. It's all over the papers and the radio. It will be on the telly news this afternoon."

Havers felt a burst of panic. Unaware of her trouble, Morrow sat down next to her.

"Is it familiar to you M'am?" he said, turning to Havers.

_--_

_Please,__ please! Tell me what you think! Is it going in the right direction? Any suggestions?  
_


	10. Chapter 10

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_note: it was hard to resist so I didn't ;o)_

-o-

**PART 9**

"Err…" Denton was standing just inches away from his armchair.

Buchanan had not heard him coming in. The taking care of two grown men's mess was definitely a bit too aristocratic for his own taste. He suspected this butler guy to be ghostly on purpose and it was making him nervous. Feeling like he had been offered a cameo role in some idiotic 'Haunted Mansion II', he would have favoured any day his cheap and functional room at the 'Royal Clarion' hotel over this unforeseen stay at Howenstow but he did not have a say.

He understood that being in Cornwall in his family house was certainly a bonus for Lynley and part of a bigger plan; with Havers who was to be found any minute now, it will be nice to have a substitute home for her before they go back to duty and dull real life. She will find solace in being here with her friends.

"Yes? Hum, Denton?" Buchanan said, resolved not to show his uneasiness. He pushed his files aside and locked his eyes on him.

"Good afternoon Sir," Denton said with a courteous nod. "I am awfully sorry to disturb you sir but we just received the most curious telephone call. I thought I should inform you immediately, his Lordship being unavailable at the moment."

"Very well, by all means Denton, what is it about?" said the American in a very poor impersonation of Lynley. What a bore, he thought, where is Lynley when you need him to deal with petty details?

Denton raised one eyebrow and his mouth imperceptibly twisted in discontent. Despite of the fact that Lord Asherton's world has been turned upside down, this American detective was behaving ever so lightly.

"I believe a physician from Carharrack succeeded in locating Detective Sergeant Havers," he said curtly.

Buchanan was on his feet.

"He found her? Do the police know? Where is she? Is she ok?"

Denton chose to answer the last two questions.

"I am afraid I was not given this information sir but Dr Morrow provided us with an address," said Denton, handing out a note. "He says that he is willing to meet with his Lordship at his earliest convenience."

"Give me that, for chrissakes," Buchanan exclaimed, ripping a scrap of paper off Denton's hand.

"Penhaligon? Where is it? Is it far from Howenstow?"

"I am afraid Penhaligon is not a place sir but the name of the man who haphazardly discovered Ms Havers in the woods yesterday."

"You just told me you knew nothing!" Denton is a better player at his game than I am, he thought.

"Exactly sir."

"And where do I find this Penhaligon guy?" sighed Buchanan in disbelief.

Clearly the guy's holding a grudge against me for some reason. Or maybe I just don't understand the way it works around here. Whatever. Barbara is alright…

"Mr Penhaligon is currently residing in Carharrack. Dr Morrow cancelled his appointments for the day in the event that Ms Havers should suffer a nervous breakdown."

… or not. His rough-edged, rock-solid Barbara having a breakdown? No way.

"Anything else Denton?" he said cautiously.

"I'm afraid not sir. His Lordship…"

"Ok Denton, I'm sure you'll manage to find Lynley. Just tell him I'm out of here. I'm going to get Barb right away. I'll be back before he knows it."

"Very well sir. I will keep his Lordship up to date."

"You do that," muttered Buchanan.

He was hurrying past the front door already. Soon his tyres screeched in the alley making gravels sprung out into the lawn. My GPS is friendlier that this broomstick, he breathed between his teeth.

-o-

Fists clenched deep inside the borrowed hand made purple cardigan, Havers was facing slopes of green and yellowish meadows. In the background, she could even catch a glimpse of the woods she mysteriously materialised from. Was it only yesterday?

Her back to the house, she waited for her unexpected sobbing to slowly recede. Not that she felt sad or distressed. She was not feeling anything. She probably merely needed a breath of fresh air to help her put things back into perspective. She exhaled deeply.

What did Morrow possibly expect achieving, for heaven's sake? She simply could not answer his questions. She would have been more than happy to comply, but her mind was blank and he knew first hand she was not familiar with anything for the time being. She did not recall being part of Scotland Yard, where the hell Howenstow was or why she was lost in Cornwall.

She was beginning to question her name at this point. Fully aware that she held odd preconceptions for a Lady, all the same she could not help being prejudiced against nobility. Hatred of the highborn was running so high in her blood that she suspected having very real working-class roots. That she had married a Lord was becoming more and more utterly surreal by the minute. Thus given, she could not be Lady Helen and Lynley being a Lord, he would not marry outside of his own class. Would he, she pondered.

Well, if she really was lost property, all she had to do was to wait for someone to find her.

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and went back slowly to the house, hoping her face was not red and swollen from her crying.

-o-

The scent of horses, hay and manure was potent and when Lord Asherton entered the stables, he knew that even with a blinder on his eyes, he would have remembered every single inch of the place with the utmost accuracy. He felt great for the first time in weeks, even months.

His love for horses could have been his demise but his strict and moral upbringing along with some common sense had kept him away from the tracks before it was too late.

He inhaled deeply and memories flooded back to him immediately.

Maybe he could stay in Howenstow for good. Settle down. Have children. His mother would be so happy should he choose to return to the estate. At long last, they could live as a real family for the first time in years and forget old resentment.

Yes, that's exactly what he was in need of; a fresh start. Obviously Howenstow was paramount to his new scheme but only with Havers in the picture, he thought, knowing he had constantly turned a blind eye to his feelings while she was around.

He would not mind leaving the force on a whim and breed some Arabian colts instead, perhaps even produce a champion if he was clever enough in his selections. But would Barbara accept to ever leave London and her career? She was a very good cop, with enough ambition to go to the top if she put her energy into it.

It was either that or staying with the Met and working happily ever after with Havers, he chuckled, shrugging off his loony plans.

He walked in, mechanically looking for Alf Eterghale before he recalled that the one who had taught him everything he knew about cleaning and smartening a horse was long gone. The new groom was not even aware of Lynley's current staying in Cornwall and the last thing he wanted was to make Applegate uncomfortable with his presence.

He managed to saddle his favourite horse, a fine black silver American Morgan, whose height was way above standard with 16 hands and who was exhibiting the most extraordinary natural long mane. It had been loosely braid to prevent breaking and Tommy gently ran his fingers inside the braids to obtain a wavy appearance. He checked the hooves and teeth, set the bridle and walked him out of the stables.

Once outside, he hopped on and the horse instantly managed to trot in place. Lynley smiled, happy that his old friend could still recollect his training after all the years he'd been gone. He petted his head and the horse went at canter.

-o-

"Do you feel better dear? I made you a nice cup of tea. Would you like some biscuits?"

Havers nodded absently and took the tray to the living room. The television was off and Morrow out of sight.

"Excuse me, I have to wake up my husband," said Morveren. "He's going to be mad when he learns what's going on!"

"What's going on?" asked Havers.

"I told the doctor about Lady Helen being shot in the line of duty. And obviously, the doctor's seen your scar," she pointed a finger at her stomach. "He said it's a classic scar from a gun shot. So he called Howenstow. Lord Asherton is on his way," she giggled.

"A gun… How… why did he…"

"I thought it was best to call his Lordship first," interrupted Morrow.

He walked away from the door to let Morveren go upstairs to her husband.

"After all, he is a police officer and he will call the search off if you happen to be the missing detective. His butler took my message. I guess he won't be long now," he added, checking his watch. "I'm going to wait for him."

"His butler? Good heavens," said Havers, putting the tray down forcefully onto the coffee table. Some tea was spilled out and a cup nearly fell on the carpet.

She faced the doctor, spitting her rage with passion.

"You're kidding, right? 'His butler', 'his Lordship'? What are you trying to achieve? A recreation of Trollope or Hardy?"

"Don't be alarmed. I will be with you all the way."

"And it's supposed to be reassuring? Why would I want you all the way? All the way to what? Where is the part when you ask me if I agree with your brilliant plan?" she barked coming closer to the doctor.

"I only want your own good," he said flatly.

"Really? And you've known me, what? Five minutes? How would you know what is good for me? You're a joke!" she cried out, sensing she was losing it.

"Please calm down, or I will have to sedate you."

"Honestly, what would you do if you were not a doctor? Knock me out?"

"What are you two up to?" interrupted Jory.

He was half awake and not in a very good mood.

"Couldn't you be any louder, for crying out loud! I can't think of anyone left in Carharrack who can't hear you!"

"Sorry Penhaligon," said Morrow, "but Ms Lynley…"

"Ms Lynley doesn't want to be eaten alive by the lions without a fight, that's what!" shouted Havers.

"What's all the fuss about? Aren't you supposed to be married to the man?" said Jory in a strong voice, startling Havers. "For all I know, you should be happy to see Asherton again. You have all the time in the world to quarrel when this matter is settled. And I will have some peace in my own house. Now, I want my tea, woman!"

-o-

"Hello? Just a second… please hold!"

Buchanan slowed down, pulled over and picked up his phone.

"Lynley? Is that you? Sorry I did not wait for… Hello? I can barely hear you. Where are you?"

"… Denton rang… am 'round," said Lynley.

"Ok. Listen. I must confess I got lost a couple of times to get to Carharrack but I think this damn GPS has it right this time. Lynley? You still there?"

"… listening… right…"

"Ok, ok. Well to cut a long story short, I had to ask someone at the 'Knight and Hawk' pub for direction and I seem to be only half a mile from Penhaligon's."

"… know where… Penhaligon's cottage. Did… yet?"

"Lynley, the line's breaking up. I'm almost there. I should get to Barbara in less than five minutes."

"… can't hear… meeting you…"

"Lynley? Lynley?" he said louder before ringing off.

He threw the mobile into the glove compartment. Starting the engine, he checked his mirrors and speeded up.

"No sweat your Highness, I'm on it."

-o-

Boiling with rage, she slammed the door behind her and ran to the fence half visible under thick shrubs of ivy, roses and honeysuckle. Half an hour ago she was sobbing and now she couldn't stop her heart from pounding in her chest out of anger and frustration. What was the matter with her? She seemed unable to keep her emotions in check. She took a deep breath, in a useless effort to stop tears from welling up again in her eyes.

Morrow had done nothing wrong. He's probably only wanting to help, she thought, and more likely to get a good look at Asherton. Maybe a handshake with his Lordship on the front page of the local rag would boost his practice, she scoffed.

Her eyes strayed inadvertently from the house to the horizon and she watched helplessly a small sports car closing up. Typical, she thought, couldn't his Lordship choose any less conspicuous a car? How could he be here already anyway? She might have lost track of time or Howenstow was right the next corner.

The driver might have seen her in the distance or maybe he was in a cheerful mood in the prospect of meeting her because he honked joyfully and made the car blink in unison. He finally stopped in what seemed to be a never ending uncontrolled motion. Half hidden behind the flowers and fences, she watched the shadows on the windscreen smeared his face when he parked under the hazel tree on the other side of the road. What if he was the one she had been fantasizing about, the one she simply seemed unable to get out of her head? What if, against all odds, she was Lady Helen, happily married to Lord Asherton of Howenstow? Havers froze. Buchanan sprung out of the small car and ran to the wrought iron gate of the cottage. He pulled on the chain and the chirping sound of the bell made a flock of reddish birds fly away squawking.

Havers dipped her head with bitter disappointment to hide behind the bushes. Tall, handsome and blonde, he was not the man she expected to show up at the gate. Biting hard into her lower lip, she ran away, dismissing the fact that she could barely walk with her lent shoes. She had to put as distance between her and the house, the Lord at the gate, not to mention that stupid doctor. Half walking half running, unable to keep her balance, she soon left the vegetable garden behind her.

The purple sweater pressed firmly to her chest, she stumbled on. An unfitted orange blouse she was wearing underneath decided to get a life of its own. It twisted and tucked out of her pleated skirt. She tried to tuck it back inside, pushed away a lock of hair and tripped on a concealed dry stone wall. With a thump, she fell down heavily onto the dirt trail three feet below and cursed profusely.

"Barbara!"

She looked up to see a Jodhpur boot in a stirrup. A big dapple grey horse circled around her and reared up. A second later, Lynley was on his knees beside her and she was in his arms, skirt over head, with her tangled hair and her fierce glare, his perfect Havers.

"Are you alright?" he asked with concern in a low voice, his right hand over her bare stomach and his left stroking her hair.

"Who the hell are you for goodness' sake!" she yelled.

He tried to pull on the skirt to cover her legs. Apart from some scratches on the knees and dirt all over her face, she did not seem injured. He hugged her firmly, his smiling eyes never leaving hers.

"And what are you doing? Let go of me right this minute or you're in for a surprise mister!" she wailed.

Lynley laughed quietly and cuddled her fondly.

She realized she was struggling to free herself from his embrace and resisting the urge to hug him at the same time. Her knight in shining armour had finally come to rescue her and he was wearing Burberry.

-o-

_Thanks to all of who sent a review! I can't even begin to tell you what it means to me that you are enjoying this story! I'll update asap ;)_


	11. Chapter 11

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

**PART 1****0**

As soon as he saw her running away from the cottage, Jack jumped over the fence to follow her. Patience had never been his strong suit and he was eager to get his answers. Backing up Lynley meant no free reins on the investigation from the beginning and it had taken its toll on his nerves. In fact, he had to admit he had been anticipating a terrible end to a worst-case scenario for the last few hours. He was not ready to let her vanish from his sight again.

Running behind her at a distance, he watched her stagger and fall away. His heart leaped in his chest for fear of a last minute lethal accident.

Lynley on his incredible horse, Lynley kissing her hands, Havers turning into an instant shrew and punching him out, that's something the guys from the 13th precinct will never believe even if he could back up his story with a video and he didn't have one. That was a scene he hardly pictured himself.

Well at last Barb seemed very much alive but why on hell would she hit her beloved boss? It was only a kiss for Pete's sake!

They were back to the cottage, Tommy's horse tied to the front gate happily chewing on honeysuckle and Jack was coping with an extra-corporeal experience as a Jane Austen character. The Penhaligons were demonstrating nothing out of the ordinary. The Earl of Asherton was having tea in their living room still they were not impressed. How English, Jack Buchanan thought. Lynley was his usual considerate and poised self. To his credit, Jack had to concede that he was quite magnificent despite his evident yearning to cut their little reunion short.

Jack began to cool down. He was in no hurry to return to Howenstow now that Barb was safe and facing him across the coffee table. Jory had filled some blanks for them and he would give a full statement at the police station later on. Morveren was cheerful and appeared very protective of Havers.

Dr Morrow had been given them quite willingly a complete medical update on Havers' case right in front of her and she had not even began to protest his lack of tact. Jack was having a great time watching him go from red to purple and stutter every single phrase. It was a pity really, because the young physician seemed quite articulate and capable but he obviously had a huge crush on Barbara and a bad case of weak knees when confronted to aristocracy.

Jack was worried about his friend though. The poor girl was a mere shadow of her former self, unable to adjust properly to the present situation. Managing her memory loss was giving her a hard time, not to mention the awkward position the discovery of the wrong name she'd chosen for herself was putting her in. She clearly had no idea that Helen had died, and a terrible death at that. Her eyes were wandering off from the doctor to Lynley and back. She looked puzzled and distressed as lots of things were beginning to add up.

He took another biscuit and engrossed himself into the vision of Barbara gone deep inside her shell, not a usual sight when she was around her former partner.

Lynley eventually stood up. With the promise of seeing them again soon, Morveren finally let Barb get into the car. At the last minute, she went back to her house to fetch a brown bag. "They are clean but I haven't had time to mend them," she said waving them away.

Jack honked and rapidly left the cottage behind.

"You're ok?" he asked gently, with a quick glance to Havers, huddled on the seat next to him, clutching the brown bag for dear life.

She simply nodded.

"Lynley is cutting through the woods. He'll meet us at Howenstow. He rang Denton to have a bath ready for you the minute we arrive."

She stared blankly in front of her and started sobbing.

-o-

It took Jack a few days to admit that something was really wrong with her head. He was slowly realizing that Barbara was not going to get her memory back right away, if ever. Always being the optimist, he thought that being together with the both of them again would trigger an immediate response and prompt her memory back. Simply they were not heroes from a book or a television show. Nothing of the sort happened. The doctor had no clue whatsoever of the when or the why claiming they just had to wait. Lynley tended to agree with the good doctor but Jack was not convinced. He suspected that he wanted to keep her in Howenstow as much for the quiet of the place as for the chance to defend his case before Havers in the short run.

Buchanan was a trust your guts and nothing could go wrong kind of man. He foolishly expected Barbara to behave as he would have. He had given some thoughts into her reaction when they found her near the cottage. Obviously, her emotional response to his Lordship amorous conduct did not make sense given she had been attracted to Lynley for ages. To follow her instinct would have meant to go for it and kiss the man! On the contrary, acting upon her feelings, she rejected him, trusting remnants of her former experience. He bet she did not know what to do, kiss him or knock him out and went for the latter using reason instead of following her heart.

Even with her Swiss cheese memory, he knew that Barbara had the backbone of a detective. She was no fool, with or without her memory, she would soon do the math. Putting bits and pieces together, she had already found out about Lynley's career going down the drain in the aftermath of Helen's death, about her training in New York and their friendship. He suspected that she knew more.

-o-

Jack saw Vic Morrow to the door and considered carefully the idea of going back inside and talking to Barbara. With each doctor's visit, she was shrinking more and more back inside her shell building herself a thicker protective armour. He could see that she was aware of a lot more than she cared to admit and he was hurt she did not confide in him as she always had in the past. He knew that something was not clicking between them for some reason.

He was still hesitating when she ran past him without slowing down or acknowledging his presence. She was heading to the stables and he followed her on a mere whim. He had given her enough space for the past days, it was time to embrace the real issue and find a way to get to her. She stopped briefly in front of the doors with a glance around and disappeared inside. He had no idea that Barbara Havers was a horse lover. That was a whole new concept.

He blinked, trying to adapt his sight to the sudden darkness, and walked carefully inside the barn. Apart from a small black and white half pony, only Lynley's horse was there. He ventured further. Not that he disliked horses but he was not a big fan either.

Barb's sobbing made him walk faster and he found her clenching fiercely the mane of Lynley's horse and whispering to his ear.

"Ok girl, time for a little chat, you and me. There's something you're not telling me and I want to know what it is and I want to know right now," he said firmly. She literally fell into his arms. "Calm down, here, easy, sssh…," he whispered, trying to soothe her, gently stroking her hair. Her tears finally receding, she moved away from him and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "You ok? You want to talk?"

She nodded and took his hand silently, guiding him to the back of the stables. Soon they were outside in the meadow and she began to run again. "Come, I can't stay here, I can't, please help me," she said. They left the barn and mansion behind and headed towards the river.

"How did you know I was leaving?"

"Jack," she said, "I don't remember everything, but you did tell me you were in Scotland Yard for a training gig. You've got to get back to London sooner or later and it's been a week already."

"You're right. In fact, I was supposed to be back two days ago but Lynley pulled some strings and you know the drill… But I never intended to conceal it from you."

"Don't stay here because of me Jack. I have to be on my own to sort out that mess and I cannot go back to my flat just yet. Still I have no idea what I'm doing here with Tom… Lynley. Sometimes I remember things that cannot be. You know it's like I can't trust my memories. It feels wrong to stay here in Howenstow with him though, it's too painful. I can't stop wandering whether he's having ulterior motives or if I'm only imagining the whole thing."

"Tommy is very fond of you, you know. And I suspect that it's not only out of friendship."

She did not answer and simply put her hand in the river and splashed some water around. He picked up a flat stone and threw it swiftly. It bounced thrice.

"Third is the charm," she whispered.

"Come, it's getting cold here, let's get back to the mansion; I'll talk to Lynley before I leave Howenstow. If you want to go back to London, he can't stop you, you know that don't you? And don't forget I live at your place, I too can take care of you."

"Yes, yes," she smiled, tears welling up again.

"Ok. Let's go then." He took her by the arm and led her back to the house. She leaned on him and thanked him softly. "You're welcome dear. That's why friends are for." And with that, he placed a peck on her cheek.

They headed back slowly, under the scrutiny of a man with dark hair on his grey horse.

-o-

He rang off and went for a cool beer in the fridge. He was still out of place in Barbara's small apartment. He could not help thinking that he had failed her, leaving her behind in Howenstow. Now she was telling him that Lynley's mother had planned an early return to the estate and she seemed to totally freak out.

Well, he had been gone only five days and could probably fly back for the week end, he thought. He opened a fried rice and sesame chicken takeout and began eating directly from the cardboard box. Absently, he took a bite at an egg roll and licked his fingers, his eyes never leaving the page he was reading. Slowly he was turning the pages of the file he had brought back to Havers', examining thoroughly the photographs and comparing them to the forensic report.

Soon engulfed in his work, he let Barbara's anguished call for help linger to the back of his mind.

_please please give me some feed back ;)_


	12. Chapter 12

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_Note: I thought that giving Lynley pov would be amusing. I'm sorry this takes so much time to get to a conclusion but the story has now a life of its own. Enjoy ;)_

-o-

**PART 11**

Lynley had doubted his eyes for the last hundred yards.

Havers was running away from the cottage and he could spot Buchanan running behind her at a distance. He pressed his horse with a firm hand to meet them half way and watched her fall hard at full speed down to the bridle path a mere twenty feet away from his horse. She yelled from the sudden pain then stopped moving. He thrust off the horse who kept on trotting before slowing down to a gentle walk to rush to her side. Quickly kneeling down, he leaned to her. Her breathing was ragged and rasped but at least she was breathing.

He took her in his arms and checked her rapidly for injuries through her clothes. She was scratched and smudged with mud but apart from extensive bruises, she seemed all right. While pulling her skirt onto her legs, he inadvertently placed his gloved hand on her bare stomach. In a haze, he noticed she was wearing the most awful orange blouse, far worse looking than everything he'd seen her wearing in the past. It was rolled up and crumpled under her arms and her sweater was all twisted. He knew he intended to put her clothes right to cover her.

And then he was kissing her hands, her neck, pushing away strayed locks of red hair, caressing her face. He kissed her lightly on the lips and the corner of his mouth twisted in contentment and shock. Electrified, she wriggled to get free of his embrace, cursing him between her teeth. He barely heard her, holding on to her no matter what.

It was… well, it was far better than anything he had experimented with anyone since Helen's death, he thought, revelation sinking in. Whatever he called it, it was something he was not prepared to feel for his colleague. How could it be? It was only Havers for heaven's sake! Nonetheless, he could not believe she was not only safe but in his arms and that it felt so good.

She apparently could not believe it either, though her reasons were possibly different from his own because she violently pushed him away, calling him names.

That was unexpected.

-o-

Tea at the Penhaligons was pure torture. Squeezed between Morrow and Morveren he could not keep his eyes away from Havers going to tatters as if her newly found world was crashing all around her.

The physician seemed like a kind fellow but his attitude was completely unethical. Lynley was surprised to hear no strong protest coming from Havers. The Barbara he knew would never have let him say that much without giving him the proper treatment.

"Thank you Dr Morrow," he said, stopping him in the middle of a sentence that involved rape kit and molesting. "I am sure you are willing to visit Ms Havers in Howenstow during her stay at the mansion."

The doctor blushed violently and said a few words in a low tone. Buchanan was evidently enjoying himself a lot though he was obviously worried about Havers.

Lynley turned to her and she did not avert his gaze. She gave him an apologetic smile instead and silently mouthed a thank you. Kissing her had been inappropriate but mostly unforeseen. Then, she had gone almost instantly from an over-energetic persona to an emotionally distressed character. If only he could remember their conversation. Maybe something he had done? No, he pondered, she was angry with him as she had every reason to be and during their weird encounter, she was very much alive and kicking. Now, she was prostrate and miserable, the pathetic image of despair. She had seemed completely drained the minute Buchanan finally reached them.

"Would you care for another biscuit?" asked Morveren.

If only he could have her back in his arms again, he knew everything would fall back into place. But it was impossible as long as her memory was a blank, he would only take advantage of their friendship. He needed time as much as she. Her memory loss will give him all the time necessary.

"No, thank you, they are delicious but I'm full."

Go slow and give her all the space she's entitled to, he thought, that's your best move. He engaged his hosts in a casual conversation about horse, milk and Cornwall with his usual aplomb, never letting her escape his scrutiny until it was time to go.

-o-

Now, he was eager to go back to Howenstow.

Penhaligon's testimony had been taken care of and nothing new had come out of it. On the other hand, it was not a total loss to Morris and his entire workforce. They had gathered hundreds of stories to tell for the years to come. Photographs had been taken. The eighth Earl of Asherton had given them all possible leeway by horseback riding to the police station in order to investigate the kidnapping of his lady friend.

Nonetheless, Lynley could not stop grinning like a lunatic. It had been a terrible three day wait. He knew he had nothing to do with her being found but he was relieved and happy all the same. He was confident that Terndell had done her no harm. That young doctor, Vic Morrow, was positive that she was safe and sound and as far as he was concerned, he did not need to hear more.

All he wanted right now was to ride back home and enjoy a brandy in the company of his friends. He galloped back to the mansion and charged inside the stables. After going through a summary grooming, he made sure the animal was left with plenty of hay and water and hurried back inside to find Havers.

He heard their voices from the hall and practically ran to the kitchen only to a scene he had not anticipated. From the doorway, she seemed so comfortable with Buchanan holding her hand that he had to fight a flush of jealousy. She was wearing a sweater and some slacks in matching shades of black and for the first time in years, he really saw her as she was most of the time, beautiful. Her hair was disciplined in a very girlie way and she was smiling.

Nonetheless, he could not accept that having been away for only three hours they should be back already to their cool and easy banter. Pulling himself together, he barged inside with no warning, satisfied to make her jump. She gaped blankly at him. Rewarded by her immediate awkwardness and loathing himself all the same for being so obnoxious, he felt driven to embarrass her further.

"Any of those left?" he said with a nod to their empty drinks. Adopting a posture alien to his usual composure, he deliberately slumped on a chair between them and grabbed a beer. "I can really use a few. It's been quite a day."

She suddenly looked tired and frail, on the verge of collapsing; it was eerie and so unlike her. His heart was bleeding just by the sight of her, but he could not stop himself, his anger dangerously building up.

"Are you feeling any better Havers?" he said briskly, "You bring her up to speed Buchanan? Anything coming back yet?" he added, all bossy.

Jack gave him a disapproving look. He tried to backpedal and gave her one of his best smile but harm had been done. She had entered deep into self-deprecating mode.

"Err… no sir, nothing, sorry."

Here she was. Apologizing of having been kidnapped. What a jerk he was to behave like this on account of her American friend.

"Don't be sorry Havers, you've evidently been through a lot lately." The thought of stroking her cheek and hugging her crossed his mind and he turned to Buchanan to push away images of very graphic consequences. "Not that Penhaligon was of any help unfortunately," he added in disbelief.

"He knew nothing?" asked Jack evenly, his brow furrowed, clearly ready to confront him.

"Apart from almost running her over?" said Lynley with a shrug. "No. Never heard of Terndell either, I'm afraid. That's another dead end. I managed to sneak some forensic reports out of the station for you though." That was not enough to cheer up the American. "Morris won't mind."

He raised his glass and winked. He glanced back at Havers but she was no longer listening. Her eyes seemed glassy and he would have bet her hands had turned ice cold. Uneasily, he added in a softer voice. "But I'm pretty certain Havers' was a random kidnapping. You told her about the barn?"

"Yes, I did," Jack nodded, "she doesn't remember the barn, or the car or coming to see your mother."

"I see. You don't you remember coming over to Howenstow to meet with my mother?" he asked her directly. "She told me on the phone she made cucumber sandwiches." Posh culinary mannerism used to make her laugh.

She gave him an uncertain look. "I was coming to the mansion? Why? Do I know your mother… Sir?"

"Yes, you've been here before Havers, don't worry, it will come back eventually. I'll show you some photographs you intended to give to her. Maybe it will ring a bell."

He paused, uncertain of what to say next. Jack did not volunteer to help him out. He could tell from his judgmental look that he was in for a well deserved lecture when Havers was going to be asleep.

"There's absolutely nothing that can relate Terndell and his endeavours to you or to your past investigation in Cornwall."

She glanced briefly, her head down, eyes on her lap.

"By the way, that qualifies for another success Havers, I understand that congratulations are in order!" he added, his artificial attempt at cheering her up unsuccessful. "When you are back to duty, I will personally recommend you for a promotion."

"I'm not sure I qualify for a promotion, sir," she snapped.

"Give me some credits here, Havers," Lynley said icily. Oh god. How did she manage to get him so quickly on edge? "You hardly remember your name right now." He fell silent, unable to get his emotions back in check. There was only one thing left to do. If it was not too late. "Excuse me Barbara, that was rude, I'm sorry," he trailed.

Buchanan did not seem convinced. She did not make a move. He resisted again the urge to console her.

"When you feel better, I would like to see you both in the reading room, please. I reckon we have some introspection to do."

Could he be any more distant? Cursing his bad temper, he stood up and left. Buchanan was trying to cheer her up already. Havers was softly sobbing.

He clenched his fist and hit the wall. Hard. What a fool…

-o-

The first days were the worse. Howenstow was strangely quiet, with her mother gone and practically all of her personnel on vacation. Havers being the sole woman in his beloved house was something he had never envisioned.

After his unspeakable attitude on the day they found her, he made a point at avoiding her by all means possible. It was easy. She still had problems finding her way in the house while he could have sketched it with his eyes closed.

Since he could not skip all meals, the three of them casually met for breakfast. Buchanan was a morning person and his good mood and happy demeanour was rubbing off on her. On the contrary, after yet another sleepless night, Lynley usually felt grumpy, old fashioned and worse of all completely unattractive. And possibly he was, being so self absorbed in giving her all the space that she and Jack could need.

Denton was providing stacks of sandwiches and baskets of cheese and fresh fruits around noon. He rapidly found it convenient to stay in his study to attend to family matters or to have endless phone calls with Lafferty or Webberley, burying himself in paperwork. The alternative was to spend most afternoons on his horse, in a word staying away from her as much as he could.

His protests and excuses of never been able to join them for dinner sounded shallow and childish even to his ears but he had to. Last week when he thought she will never be back it was frightening enough but nothing compared to the fear she might reject him now that he had held her, kissed her and that he knew what he might lose. He kept being amazed at his new feelings. He was not ready to lose her as a friend either, for he had come to realise that she was above all his best friend. He would not rush her into a relation she did not want at the risk of alienating her for ever. He had to give her time to move on with her life before doing anything drastic.

Every afternoon, Morrow would visit her. Every other day he will first check on Applegate's new born at the gate house and then Havers. Lynley would wait in the reading room and see him to the door as soon as the doctor had delivered his report, the same every day so far. She was doing ok, though her recovery had proven to be slower than anticipated.

He watched Morrow's car take the driveway. He was appreciative of fine cars and his 1966 Lotus Elan coupé was a real beauty. Listening to the Ford 4-cylinder engine, he spotted Applegate who was coming back from his house. His son had been born the day they had found Barbara and with his wife just being back from the hospital, the young couple was having a hard time managing their work on the estate. Lynley was up for a ride and they headed to the stables together. Riding when autumn was going all chilly in yellows and oranges was high on the list of his personal top ten moments. They were almost to the barn when they heard voices above the soft neigh of the two horses. Buchanan's silhouette against the light was soon followed by another, smaller, who soon was running to the back entrance. Together, they continued towards the woods.

I bet the twosome is going to hang out at the river, Lynley thought with a bitter sting. He saddled his horse without Applegate's help and took him outside by the reins. They left, ambling flat out far away from the river. It took him a good ten miles of roaming through the hills to cool off.

He had arranged for Buchanan to extend his leave in Cornwall and even managed to turn it into a work arrangement. There was nothing much he could do to extend his stay in Howenstow. If they were all to return to London he knew he will find a way to talk to Havers eventually. After all, they had been partners during all these years he could wait a few weeks to make his feelings known. Or not. In any case, he would have to explain his attitude eventually and to prove to her it was not infatuation but something more. He was not sure he wanted to compete with Jack if he was the man she was in love with. He suspected she had had some affairs in the past but nothing really serious. She had always been very discreet about her love life and he respected that. Somehow, he wished he knew more about her though. Was it possible that she harboured more tender feelings for him behind her friendly admiration? She never demonstrated anything more, he pondered.

He cut back through the woods and stopped at the ridge of a hill. He caught them slowly going back to the house holding hands and casually kissing. He watched long after they were gone.

-o-

Against his better judgement, Lynley let Buchanan leave the next day. Denton gave him a lift to the airport and Havers didn't even bother to accompany him. She kissed him good bye on the porch and went immediately back inside. They barely spoke for the rest of the day and Havers had dinner in her room.

The next morning, they accidentally met in the gardens. She had found out that Lynley's ancestors had been enthralled into embellishing the surrounding landscape with classical features. She was apparently marveling at the breathtaking vista from the small Palladian temple. He stopped his horse and ventured behind her. He came closer, unable to speak.

"Have you ever seen anything more romantic, Tommy" she said, facing the endless slopes and the silvery reflexion of the river below. The tinted foliage of the trees in autumn sunshine seemed to add to the serenity of the place. She put her hand above her eyes to watch a flock of wild geese going south and smiled to herself.

"You knew it was I?" he said biting his tongue at his own stupidity. He was turning into a perfect imbecile.

"I like to think that I have some powers of deduction," she said with a big grin. She turned to him and patted the ground. "Come sit with me, enjoy the view. You're always locked inside that study of yours or wandering away on that huge horse. People are going to talk," she winked.

He sat down, uncertain of what to do next. She clearly was in a very good mood for her first day without Jack.

"Are you trying to avoid me?"

"No, of course not! Why would I?" he protested with too much force.

"Dunno, ye tell me," she trailed. "It's not like I can remember much, can I?"

He had no idea where it was heading to but she was on a mission.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she insisted.

"What do you want me to say," he stalled. He witnessed her good mood vanish in an instant, her eyes flashing with impatience.

"Cut me some slack Tommy. I'm momentarily memory impaired but I can still do the math. You made it possible for Jack to stay in Cornwall twice as much as he was actually permitted to, you're never around and when you are you barely talk to me. It makes a girl think! Just so you know I have no immediate plan of living happy ever after with Jack or anyone else. So please, stop, would you?"

Under the weird impression his heart was going to leap out of his chest, he resumed breathing and felt better.

"You know that all the photographs or the ridiculous souvenirs you have been waving in front of me haven't done me any good. Jack tried that too, the NY Police Museum, the strolling in Central Park, the late pizzas in Little Italy, the whole ten yards. Let me tell you, it hasn't exactly been a walk in the park."

He winced at her choice of words.

"Stop talking cucumber sandwiches, Eaton Terrace and Scotland Yard will you and let's cut to the chase. Why did you kiss me? Are we an item? I mean, I get to wonder."

He had to give her some credit she was not beating about the bush.

"Just tell me. There is no point in avoiding this talk for ever."

For heaven's sake, she thinks we were having a secret affair and that I'm trying to get away with it painlessly now that she cannot remember and she wants me to come clean. "You're mistaken," he said forcefully. "I'd never do anything of the sort. You must remember that much."

She nodded and watched him intently. "Mistaken? How?"

"We never were an item Barbara. I am… I was a married man."

"Helen," she whispered, looking away. "Yes, I know. So what? It wouldn't be the first time that a young aristocrat finds comfort in the lower class."

His head sank to his chest. Here it was; she was doing it all over again. That will never end, he sighed. He turned to her and took her hands in his.

"For starters, I'm not that young," he said with a grin. "You know that I was your partner," he continued in a more serious tone. "Being a female in a traditional male line of work is hard, you've seen it here in Cornwall, first hand. I have no doubt that some of our male colleagues were assuming that you were intimate with someone at the Met. I can assure you that the rumour about who you were involved with never came anywhere near my name."

Her eyes locked on his. She was putting him to the test. Apparently he passed because she relaxed and did not try to escape his hands.

"You know that I have lost people close to me. And I cannot even begin to imagine how hard it is for you not to remember your previous life and to lose everything dear to your heart. But I'm here for you, Barbara. Please trust me."

"Right. So why did you kiss me?"

-o-

With Denton's help Lynley was putting the finishing touches to their last evening together at the mansion. This fortnight has gone by in a flash after he was successful at keeping her mother away in Brighton. She obviously knew he was up to something but he had kept his plan a secret.

Barbara was no longer the lively pest she used to be and he sometimes missed her and her sharp take at humour. She had oddly turned into a centred lovely woman prone to reverie and meditation.

They spent endless hours discussing arts and the meaning of life and actually discovered they had a lot more in common than meet the eyes. They drove to the seaside and visited cathedrals and lighthouses. He discovered that she was an Internet addict and that she could ring Winston and Jack several times a day each day and actually talk for hours on the phone. Of one accord, they had agreed not to push their relationship further for the time being and to experiment their new friendship first.

She was remembering things and moments but nothing really, compared to what she had lost. At one point, she had wanted to go back to her flat to take a grip at her life -without him.

For Lynley it only meant she was going back to Jack, unless he could persuade the American to share his loft once he was back to London. He could not believe he had not even thought of this arrangement to begin with. His place was a lot closer to the Met than Havers' and far larger. And it was not Havers' which was the point obviously.

Tonight will be their last night alone in Howenstow and he wanted it to be perfect and unique.

He should have known better.

-o-

_I hope you're enjoying the ride as much as i do! please don't hesitate to tell me what you think ;)_


	13. Chapter 13

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

And now Havers pov...

**PART 12**

Eventually she might come to terms with the last couple of weeks but it will take an awful long time. She could not believe that she had repeated the same mistakes all over again.

She waved goodbye at the Bristol and watched it disappear round the corner of her block. That was it. Back to square one. Less than square one actually given that her memory was AWOL.

Why couldn't she be one of these flamboyant Hollywood heroines who can turn instantly her future into a brilliant life of happiness and riches because she gets stranded in an airport or injured in a car accident or has checked in at the wrong hotel? She would not know how to begin with, she shrugged, she remembered that much.

She would like to fast-forward until today and yet to gather enough information in the process. She did not need to get everything back to move on with her life for heaven's sake; she would happily forget her brother dying, her father dying, her being back to wearing a uniform or on a lighter note, every single time she had made a fool of herself with Tommy. Oddly enough, when pieces of her previous life popped to the surface, it was in Technicolor and in slow motion and they were the worst parts of her life.

_Ok, don't you play the se__nsitive damsel in distress, you're going to turn all whiny and sullen_. She immediately pictured herself as a cartoon dwarf. _The eighth Earl and the eighth dwarf._ _What a joke…_ When her secret Prince Charming kisses her, she'll have all of her memory back. Nope. Tried that, been there_. _The kissing part that is, she added with a scowl. It probably didn't work because he was only an Earl, she thought with a grin.

She walked back to her apartment, waited a bit in front of the building, entered with a sigh and closed gently the door behind her, leaning idly against it. She took a deep breath and for a moment thought of going upstairs to Azhar's to indulge herself in a little crying on his shoulder but pondered it was much too soon. She barely remembered what it was like to be around her neighbour though she had quite a vivid memory of his daughter Haddiyah. Simply it was about time to put an end to this tears and sobbing business once and for all.

All right then. Back to her apartment and back to her life. What was left of it anyway. She could recall way too much of her stay at Lynley's and not enough of her previous life as Barbara Havers, born loser and DS at the Metropolitan Police, on temporary leave.

To make matters even worse, everything in this place was alien to her. Horrid fawn walls, sagging coach, five chairs that did not match and a crippled IKEA table. Lots of cardboard cases were lined up against the walls. This time, Lynley had not bothered to help her with refurbishing, she smiled, all the better. At least, she could see what she was up against. She walked round the kitchen counter, pinched the dying Sansevieria, placed it in the sink under the running tap and put the kettle on.

A nice cuppa, she thought with a smirk. That was all she had left except that she was stuck with JB. She bit her lip. Being in New York for several months and not a glint of it left was a set back obviously. She knew that Jack Buchanan was indeed very sweet and probably her best shot at a real friend but every time she looked at him, she just blanked. Nothing was coming to mind except maybe a bond she could not quite relate to despite having been through lots of photographs and discussed extensively her stay in the US and all the cases on which they had worked together when she was over there. She was very fond of him and even sought for his help at one point. She knew she did, not because he was Jack, but because he was not Tommy.

Nonetheless, he was staying at her place, piles of files and Chinese takeouts stacked everywhere were proof enough, unless she managed to make new arrangements. She might convince Lynley to welcome a stranger he had nothing in common with to stay at his new place. There was certainly no harm in asking. She could achieve anything; after all, she was the new improved Barbara, wasn't she? They would be a nice pair, the aristocrat and the gumshoe, a refreshing take at 'The Persuaders'. She remembered she was quite infatuated with Lord Sinclair when she was 9 or 10. Maybe she always had a soft spot for the upper stiff lip.

Well, she'd do that, ring him later… or whatever. She was _whatevering_ a lot lately. With no job to go to in the morning and only damage control sessions to attend with the resident shrink in order to assess if she was still fit for duty, she was feeling useless and quite lonely. Of course, she missed her job but above all she missed Lafferty and his peculiar humour, Winston's laugh, working with her former boss and everything that had made Scotland Yard her home for all these years. Still, she was not ready to share a flat with Jack to fill that void.

She punched the noisy kettle, retrieved a bag of Ceylon tea from an ugly yellow duck shaped ceramic jar, poured hot water, added a few spoonfuls of sugar and took her tea to her bedroom, leaving her unopened suitcase in the middle of the trashed living room. She turned the lights off, sat down on the bed, and absently gazed at the LED clock. 6:12pm almost dark outside but still too early to go to sleep. She put her teacup on her bedside table near some old stained copies of free dailies and lay down without bothering to take her shoes off. She closed her eyes and dreamt she went to Howenstow again.

-o-

"Hiyah!! Who are you?" she screamed, finally freeing herself from his hold.

Strong feelings welling to the surface, she stared at the stranger who'd been kissing her, amazed she knew so perfectly every line and dimple on his face. Meeting in the flesh the man with no name she had fantasised on in her dreams was exhilarating and weird at the same time. Not to mention that he was all over her and that she actually liked it.

"What are you doing!" she protested, hitting him blindly. "You got some nerves!"

"Hey, I didn't mean anything, good heavens, and certainly no harm," complained Lynley.

He went back to his feet and left her alone on the ground. His horse was idling five or six feet away.

"I wanted to make sure you were not injured," he added, dusting his pants. "Please, calm down, I won't come near you if it's what you want."

Was it? She hesitated, ran her fingers through her hair. Now he was standing before her, with his fists on his hips, and he was smiling evenly. He was wearing riding clothes, green tweed hunting jacket with leather elbow patches and matching buttons, chestnut brown jodhpurs, half chaps and low boots and looking quite handsome with his dishevelled hair and his boyish grin. Was she staring?

"Can you help me up, please?" she said after the longest pause. She wiped her stained cheek with her sleeve and locked her bright green eyes to his when he willingly took her hand.

"You are all right then?" He seemed amused.

"Yes, I am!" she stood up, bruised and angry. "Hey, you got yourself a nice feel there, didn't you, fancy pants!" Why couldn't she recall his name?

"That wasn't my intention. I just wanted to make sure you were unharmed and…"

"You're a damn liar," she said icily. "What were your intentions then?"

"To hold you," Lynley delivered bluntly.

"To hold me? You're something else you know!"

"Havers, can't you see it is I, Tommy?"

Havers… she was Havers. Who the hell was Helen Lynley then?

"Tommy, huh, ain't it a kid name?" she quipped. "You look terribly grown up for a kid!"

At this moment, they both turned over to the sound of footsteps coming from the meadow above their heads. The tall blonde man with the fancy car careered down next to her, gravels and dirt cascading. Contrary to the man with the horse, his face was not familiar.

"Lynley what the heck are you doing, shouldn't she be lying still after such a fall? Barb, you ok?" he finally echoed in a harsh voice. He bent to his legs, his hands on his thighs panting from the sprint.

She went pale and fell her legs going numb, revelation sinking in. Barb? Was she a Barbara? Barbara Havers, so much for being a Helen, she thought. Moreover, her memory was crystal clear: her dream man was Thomas Lynley, eighth Earl of Asherton.

-o-

She looked through the window. The landscape and surrounding gardens definitely rang a bell. She'd been here. Absently wiping her hair with a soft white towel, she examined the reflection of the embroidered monogram in the mirror before examining her own. God, did she look pale and weary.

Lynley had told her that she was at home here in Howenstow. Three days ago, when he learned she was missing, he had her things brought back to his family mansion from the hotel she was staying at before her 'accident'. Though she was more than eager to learn every details of it, Lynley insisted that she was not ready -- yet. At least she was relieved not to be a runaway from a nearby mental institution. She feared she could be at one point after Morrow's detached report. Now that she was craving for his arms, Lynley was distant in an odd kind of way, careful to avoid body contact and watching her when he thought she would not notice. He was concealing something and it was not out of concern for her memory loss.

He had been very nice at the Penhaligons though. In a childish way, she was still utterly disappointed he had not taken her back to the mansion on his horse.

In the car, all the way from the cottage, she had tried her best to avoid Buchanan's scrutiny. She most certainly failed to hide her tears and the fact she was a wreck. She did not feel with him anything remotely close to the degree of intimacy and comfort she felt around Tommy. She decided to let him do all the talking and he was absurdly chatty and light-hearted on purpose. Once at the mansion, Lynley did not show. Probably too busy with his horse, she scoffed. Jack refused that a domestic called Denton could take care of her and led her directly to her room.

If the house was a huge English property, likes the ones in fancy glossy magazines or in period pieces at the Beeb, she was not prepared to have a bedroom so ridiculously vast and ornate. As expected, someone had neatly folded up the content of her small suitcase. It was now stored in a beautiful elm chest of drawers with an inlaid cherry and lemon tree design. Compared to the lavish interior, her clothes were plain and colourless apart from some strange blouses either pale with small flowers or hopelessly flashy. If cheap clothes were not the issue, their gaudiness certainly was. To her dismay, in the upper drawer was stowed the most appalling underwear she had ever cast a look upon. She unpacked the brown bag, secretly hoping to discover a ball dress and a pair of glass slippers but its findings were even worst than the rest.

She sat on the bed, her wet towel on her lap and toyed with the idea of turning her guest bathrobe into an evening gown and the plush slippers into extravagant golden stilettos. Short of a wand, she finally decided on black slacks and a turtleneck charcoal sweater to go with a pair of worn out pumps.

"What a knock out," she said in a low voice, contemplating herself in the mirror. She was only missing the rope to hang herself; maybe that Denton fellow could give her a hand, now that he had seen her clothes he will be more than happy to assist her, she thought with a smirk, or maybe help her to find the way to the kitchen first. She was positively starving.

-o-

"Oh, you're downstairs? You hungry?"

"Famished," she said ruefully.

She looked around. Tommy was not back from his ride yet. The kitchen was twice as big as her room and roller shoes could have proven handy to produce simple toasts and a pot of hot tea.

"Let me fix you a plate. Why don't you grab some coffee and relax?" said the blonde man.

Jack Buchanan. He seemed as easygoing and carefree as Tommy was broody and stiff. Different upbringings more than different natures, she pondered. She sat obediently.

"Lynley will be back any second now," said Jack, mirroring her concern. "He's been directly to the station to handle personally Penhaligon's testimony. More milk?"

"No thanks. More sugar, please, I'm on a diet," she winced. "What testimony? Am I in some kind of trouble? Why Lord Asherton would mind to interfere with local police business on my behalf?"

"Man," he said with a wheezing sound, "you have no idea really, have you?"

"Nope, no nothing, totally blank here, sorry, I'm a mess, thank you very much."

She happily sank her teeth into the best sandwich she's ever tasted, the best that she could remember, that is.

"Ok, ok, I get your point," he grinned. "His lordship is a police officer, Detective Inspector, if you may, you happen to work with. Well, at least you used to work with Lynley before you went to New York…"

"Stop, time out! First of all, let's do this properly." She stood up and held out her hand. "Havers. Barbara Havers. Right? That's what you and Lynley told me this afternoon. But who are you? I can hear you're not from East London…"

Less than half an hour later, she was fed but lost.

She could accept that she was with the police and just back from a five months training with the New York Police Department. She would easily reconcile with the idea that she was here to solve a case with the Devon and Cornwall CID but her working along with an Earl, it was a bit of a stretch. Why on Earth an eccentric aristocrat would want to be an investigator in the first place and haphazardly find a perfect partner in her? Surely enough, she felt more part of the below-stairs world than of the royal family. How could he put up to work with her on a daily basis apart from the possible masochistic trait? Above all, she was aware that her feelings were quite different from the ones she ought to have for a superior officer. She blinked and pushed away crude images of Tommy kissing her. That was certainly not the doing of a colleague. Suddenly it struck her. Was she…? Were they…?

"Et voilà," said Jack.

"You sure?"

"Five hundred percent!" Jack said with a smile and a light pat on her hand.

"Any of those left?"

Jack immediately let go of her hand. Startling them both, Lynley walked in briskly. He reached out for a beer and sat between Jack and her, his arm accidentally brushing her thigh and arm. Her heart fluttered and her face turned pale. She could have bet he was here for a while, spying on them from the doorway.

Tommy was in a very bad mood and now he was openly staring at her. She watched him slouch down on the chair and cross his legs. He was acting totally out of character, supping his beer daintily, apparently enjoying her current uneasiness. She felt awkward for no reason, her self-esteem hitting instantly rock bottom. She wished she had not looked forward to meeting him again; she was turning into jelly just at the sight of him.

What's wrong with me? Am I sixteen or what, for crying out loud, she raged. Instead of confronting him with his previous attitude in the woods, she even found herself apologizing profusely and to her surprise, she could not bring herself to call him Tommy as did Jack. She had not the first clue of how she was supposed to address him. Your Grace? Maybe not she was not a servant. Your Lordship? My Lord? Oh lord, she thought, Sir will have to do, besides, and it only felt right.

Nevertheless, Lynley seemed to have lost interest in her and he was grilling Jack. The American was restraining himself from jumping at him. Right now she was not a fan of her former boss but she could not help liking the sound of his voice even if his accent sounded too posh to be honest. Seriously, one minute he was kissing her, the next he was abusive, standoffish and bossy. Her mind might have drifted and Lynley startled her again.

A forced smile plastered on his face, he was trying to make it up to her. Why would cucumber sandwiches be a riot though? She could feel her anger building up but managed to remain quiet and made a show of looking at her hands. If he ever intended to make her laugh with one of his upper class remarks he could have spared himself the trouble, she scoffed. Nonetheless, a grin began to reach her eyes.

It evaporated the minute she realised that a well-known felon had kidnapped her on her way to see his mother. Well, she was safe, so that felon must have been taken care of, she pondered. The idea of going to Howenstow to meet with Lady Asherton on a private business was quite disturbing but at least it meant that she was right about the place. She had been here before. Was her visit something she did not intend to share with Tommy? He was pressing her now, getting impatient again. It certainly seemed to mean a lot to him that she spilled the bean. Then it hit her. He did not know how to handle the situation and was far more disturbed by her kidnapping and her being back from the dead than she was.

"When you are back to duty, I will personally recommend you for a promotion."

She had not seen that one coming and snapped right back without meaning to. She bit her lip with irritation. Instantly, he gave her a mouthful. That was mean, she thought, tears welling up in her eyes. He stopped, his mouth a thin line, ingrained in his train of thoughts. Before she had the chance to tell him she was not upset, he was gone.

Lynley was officially temperamental. At that precise moment, she could not have cared less. She seemed unable to stop sobbing every five minutes THAT was a real issue.

-o-

Some were Jack's but mostly there were Tommy's. They had been through the photographs several times already. At best, she recognized a street or a building in the background; they were pictures taken at the end of investigations before heading back to London. She was tired of playing 'Where's Wally'. Her guess was she had picked them because she was either blurry or with her eyes half closed or hidden behind a huge bag which had seen better days, not because of the people in the background. On one of them though, Tommy and she were smiling, laughing actually, facing each other, and his arm was casually crossing her shoulders.

"And you don't remember why?" he was insistent but calm.

It was getting old. She shook her head absently. These last days had seemed like an eternity. She could not stop asking herself again and again the same questions. Why would she go to Howenstow? How close was she to his mother? She could not even picture Lady Asherton's looks before Tommy showed her the painting in the reading room. But most importantly how close was she to him? He had made a rule at avoiding her and Jack for the best part of the day, locked in his study lording the estate or gone on his horse, when he was not on the phone with someone from the Met. It was an achievement to have the three of them at the same table for breakfast and she was beginning to think it would be best for her to go back to her flat with or without her memory back. She was able to live on her own and Jack will be there to hold her hand should she need it. Lynley was more likely upset to have them snooping around the house with his mother away on vacation. She would not want to intrude any longer on his privacy.

"I'm sorry, sir. Jack told me I was in New York and only back on the job over here a few weeks ago," she said matter-of-factly, her eyes diverting from the photos displayed on the coffee table. "It's hard enough that I can't remember my own mum. Maybe it was a social call, nothing special, you know, just because I happened to be in the neighbourhood. I don't remember for god's sake! So please, can you stop now? Jack will be gone tomorrow and I'd like to enjoy our last evening together."

She noticed the immediate change on his face. The corner of his mouth twitched. He bent to retrieve his glass and collected the photographs in a neat stack.

"I agree," said Jack. He was facing her across the table in a comfortable armchair near the fireplace. "Tommy can't you give it a rest just for tonight, for my own sanity?"

"I told you that I remember I was here in Howenstow at some point, because of the view from my bedroom window," she added.

"Well, that was a start," said Lynley.

His voice was warm and his composure poised and friendly again. The man was a mystery wrapped inside a surprise package but you never knew whether you were going to find firecrackers or chocolate truffles inside.

"You were in the same room in the east wing actually. That's the guest wing. Was it last Christmas?" Lynley pondered. "I must confess I'm set aback that you can't recall we worked together, but eventually I'm confident you will remember me," he added playfully. "Can I interest you in another brandy?"

Tommy's engagement party, the thought blurted out with clarity in her mind. She had bought a black evening dress for the occasion but for some reason, she could not remember that any party had taken place in the mansion. Was it cancelled in the end?

"I think it was your engagement party, sir, with Lady Helen. You invited me, didn't you? Your brother was in some kind of trouble…"

Lynley's expression changed again but she could not read it.

"Do you remember Helen?"

She shrugged. "No sir. I even thought I was her when I turned up lost in the woods." She was glad that she was not Helen and that she was alive. "May I ask you something?"

He nodded and sat on the sofa. She inhaled deeply and took a sip of her glass.

"Morveren… you know Morveren Penhaligon? Well, she told me I might be your wife because of the scar… you know?" She put her hand to her stomach. "She said Lady Helen was injured in the line of duty..."

A log shattered in the hearth and she watched the flames glowing and reflecting on the mantelpiece, utterly embarrassed. She blushed, happy that the light was too dim to reveal her trouble. Lynley was silent, his brow furrowed. He kept fidgeting with his glass when he spoke.

"YOU were injured in the line of duty Havers. Actually, I cannot picture anyone any braver that you are. Hence the scar."

She stopped breathing. That was it. He would say no more tonight. Time to cheer up the atmosphere she thought.

"I'd like another brandy sir. Anyway, you wouldn't let me embarrass myself, would you sir?"

He smiled, relieved by the change of subject, "I would not dare Havers!" and poured the brandy.

"Not for me, I'm done," said Jack. "If you will excuse me, I'm a bit tipsy myself and I'm gonna hit the sack. Night, Barb. Good night, Tommy. See you both tomorrow."

They had been over the special relationship that she was supposed to have with Lynley. At the time, she though it was a lame excuse to leave her alone with Lynley, but when he stood up, she realised he really was a bit drunk. She gave him a light peck on the cheek and Tommy shook his hand. Had she told Buchanan everything about her and Lynley? How much has she confided in him? It was one thing to be attracted to one other as Jack repeatedly told her Lynley was as much as she, and quite another to confess she had become an easy shag. A quick nookie after work. She was not sure she would have told Jack if she was part of the aristocratic DI's hidden agenda.

They stood in front of the fireplace in silence. Lynley rested his elbow against the mantelpiece and she sat on the side of the armchair. They got lost straight away into their thoughts.

"Can I ask you a favour?" she finally said in a low voice.

Lynley turned to her. He had a faint smile on his face and his eyes were glistening. He must still mourn his wife, she thought. She took his arm and made him sit beside her on the sofa.

"Can I hold on to you?"

"Hold on to me?" he repeated with a tilt of the head and a real smile this time.

"I would like to… just lean against you. I'd like to feel somebody next to me. Please?"

She snuggled in his arms and sighed.

"Can I ask you another favour?"

"Absolutely. Anything!"

"Tommy, relax, please."

That was the first time she used his name and it felt good.

-o-

Judith was taller than she was but she will manage. Tommy had asked his sister if she could borrow some of her clothes and Judith insisted on talking to her. Apparently, she seemed very fond of me when I spoke to her on the phone, thought Barbara. Now that she was wearing proper clothes, she could bear to be seen with Lynley outside of his swanky mansion.

Their relation changed the minute Jack left the building. Lynley arranged for an open leave of absence with the Met and from that moment on, merely devoted all his time to her. He took her shopping for extra clothes and insisted on paying for them with the promise that she will eventually pay him back once in London. They went to bookshops and galleries. She discovered that she was an avid reader and a sucker for art. Though she pictured herself as the ultimate city girl with a London background, she was really enjoying the countryside and Cornwall was stunning at this time of the year. They took their time exploring coastlines, ancient mines and standing stones in the shiny Bristol and it had a decadent flair to it when they eventually stopped at the local pub for pasties and seafood.

They browsed through numerous antiques shops for his mother's birthday perfect gift and he found a small medallion, a blue cameo actually, that he sat on her pillow one evening with a 'get well' note. Her other life as DS for the Met was starting to come back in ample tides of impressions and voices and she discovered it was the first time that Lynley was so completely hers and it felt exhilarating.

She was having trouble to conceal her growing attraction but he never tried to abuse her trust, being the perfect gentleman every single hour of the day – and of the night, she thought ruefully. Far from warding off his condescending and sleek upper-class pronunciation, she gleefully accepted it and even welcomed his snippets of classical education, finding them quite endearing. She knew that she was really falling for him and wondered if her feelings had ever been so strong before.

They were facing the sea over a hot chocolate when she finally knew she had to put an end to her interim fairy tale.

"Tommy, it's been an over-the-top fortnight but I'm afraid I have to go back to London."

"If you must," he simply said, taking her hand and placing a light kiss on the inside of her wrist. She shivered, surprised by his gesture and his lack of protest against her decision. "You will have some packing to do, let's head back home. Shall we?"

Disappointed he gave her up without a fight, she wished she had not said a word and waited instead until dinnertime. Or longer.

-o-

"Here's to answers and unveiled mysteries!" She raised her glass to the full-length portrait of a long gone Lady Asherton. Her evening gown danced around her ankles and a small gold bracelet sparkled on her wrist. She blew away a lock of hair and turned back to Lynley.

"Havers? Barbara? Are you ok? We had way too much to drink. It is my fault, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I have no right to ask you that." Lynley rose and held a tentative hand to catch her. "Please, let me help you. I shall accompany you to your room, you need to lie down," he said gently trying to take her glass from her.

She slipped away from his grasp.

"I don't mind telling you… well, do you want the complicated answer or the truth?" she asked all inhibitions down. "I remember everything!"

Her eyes flashing defiantly, she swirled from the coach to the window, spilling dry martini onto the wooden floor.

"'tis funny, cause I never had that many friends on the job or elsewhere," she stated bluntly.

She put her hand on her stomach and staggered.

"I didn't have any close friends except for your sorry arse," she said a bit too loud. "And it was all right, 'cause Helen was the right choice for you, I told you myself she was, sir, and I knew I couldn't be more than your partner, could I?" she paused. "But it was alright… sort of… and then she left. I was there, but you could not see I was. And now she's dead. Still you can't see me. Now I have another friend, right, F.R.I.E.N.D. Jack."

She zigzagged back to him.

"And now I'm betting you're only trying to get into my pants because you found some competition. So how dare you ask me that question? You know what, sir, arrogant aristocratic golden boys who think they can get in my pants using lame romantic clichés make me want to puke," she added in a harsh voice before dropping down to the floor like a stone.

The glass flew up in a circular motion, spilling the rest of the cocktail along with olives and ice cubes. It shattered when it crashed on the marble mantelpiece.

-o-

Ain't life outstanding and full of twists? Just when things seem dull or totally hopeless, along comes one unexpected opportunity to start fresh, the chance of a lifetime you might actually say… and you blow it, she sighed. What has come into you Barbara Havers? Kindness and crying on one's shoulder is clearly NOT what you needed. Electric shock therapy would have been more likely to do the trick. Everyone could use a few thousand volts from time to time to clear the mind and put things back into perspective.

Last night was a blur but she knew she had lost it with Lynley. Badly. Her outburst had made quite an impression. It took them the most part of the day to drive back to London but they did not exchange more than a few sentences, including "now I will stop the car and have some coffee" and "the sandwiches were lovely, thank you" and of course "we are having a fine weather for this time of the year don't you think?".

"I believe it is you."

Lynley stopped the Bristol in front of the brick project and killed the ignition. She did not move her hands from her lap, staring ahead, still mortified. He opened the car door, the trunk, retrieved her brown shabby suitcase now full of all the posh clothes he had bought for her during their Cornish retreat.

"Let me help you with it," he said, putting a light hand on her arm. She followed him to her building and to her door, opened it and let him in.

"Here you are," he said, placing the suitcase before the sofa. "I love what Jack has done with the place… Well, I guess this is goodbye then Havers. I will ring you some time next week to see how you're settling back in," he said plainly after his early sneering ad-lib.

Resisting the impulse to kiss him goodbye, she simply nodded without a word and followed him back to his car. Silence was deafening. She awkwardly shook his hand. He slammed the door and started the engine.

She waved at the Bristol and went back to her flat.

-o-

Note – I have to thank Daphne du Maurier and Charlotte Brontë for their help...

Please tell me what you think ;)


	14. Chapter 14

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_note: some harsh facts when the investigation begins. _

**PART 13**

Lynley was in his office, staring blankly at the wall before him. Given the volume of paperwork that was still pending, he would probably be decommissioned before seeing the light of day again. With no sign of Havers he did not seem to find a way to have the work done and was crumbling under weeks of back files; he was glad that Assistant Commissioner Evans was someone easy to work with or he might have asked for a transfer.

It had been a week today since he had returned from his estate and nearly a year since he and Havers had solved their last case together, the Sarah Middleton case. That reminded him how dangerously close they had been to clashing in the course of this investigation. Not only because of their professional differences while dealing with the case but on very intimate points of view as well. Just like in Howenstow.

For the first time in his line of work, Chief Inspector Lynley had felt totally in control probably on account of the terrifying layout and consequences of these hideous crimes. And as a matter of fact, for the first time as well, he had felt that working with Havers meant working with an equal who did not want to be bossed around any more. Their opposite assessments at the rapes had oddly brought to the fore how conflicting were their interpretations when it came to progressing in life.

Though they eventually reconciled professionally, a lot of issues were left unsolved, way too many words unsaid, and he knew that he had experienced a level of discomfort he had never felt before when working with Havers and that it would not be easy to get around it. The peculiar nature of the crimes and her bond she forged with one of the suspects had taken its toll on her and though she was still tough and a first grade officer, she had had trouble bouncing back to her normal confident self.

She decided to 'leave' him to partner again with DI Fiona Knight, finally back from her 18 month maternal leave. This was the course of things. They had been a team for a long time, longer than most of their colleagues at the Met. Fi was a good cop and moreover she kept encouraging Barbara to be strong and speak up for herself. Accordingly, she had taken her inspector exams and even given a thought at passing the board.

As for the minefield of their personal relationship, he must admit that it had been a disaster ever since, leading to the eventual fireworks in Howenstow last week. Though looking forward to a time when he won't be Havers' boss any more, he couldn't bring himself to making social calls and go to her place uninvited. For no valid reason and despite the fact that he considered her his best friend, he could not trespass on this unknown territory. At some point, he had been considering buying new clothes and a 'normal' car – as Havers would have put it - just to be able to pay a visit to his down-at-heel friend but had discarded the idea as utterly offensive. Toning down his appearance won't do any good to the uncertain balance of their friendship. Not to mention that dressing down could prove to be extremely difficult for him to handle. Anyhow, before he knew it, she was gone overseas, taking him at his word for this one time that this training was worth a try and her best move at achieving professional promotion.

He checked his mobile for the umpteenth time and sighed. He had spent the last ten minutes reading the same page and still had no idea what it was about. He could not get her out of his head and kept re-playing their last moments together in Acton.

When he had told her that he will ring her eventually, he could not believe that he had come up with such a trite remark when leaving her on her footstep. It was something he could have told a vague acquaintance at the end of a charity dinner or after a romp at the Opera with friends of friends. Not to Barbara. As a result, he was the one expecting her call and he bloody well knew that she would not call him first.

The ride back from Cornwall had been pure torture. Letting once again his upbringing have the upper hand, he had been unable to come up with something to do or say apart from the most abysmal list of truisms and platitudes ever known to mankind. He was dying to ask her if she actually remembered anything that happened the night before but eventually never mustered the courage to ask her directly – or not.

For it was the whole point. He did not want to confront her. He did not want to be upfront either. He wanted to stay polite and light-hearted, enough to turn his question into a poor joke in the -expected - event she will choose to deny. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that this relationship was worth the fight despite the obvious mismatch. Was he trying to persuade himself? Was he so lonely? His circle of friends had shrunk to a handful and he could not even remember the last time he had barged in at the Saint James while uncalled for. Maybe he was. Maybe he was simply deluding himself in a desperate search for happiness.

But for the time being, he was blaming himself for her losing control on their last evening in Howenstow and still taken aback it had exposed that his feelings were reciprocated. What he had misread as sudden lust for a woman he had spent the best part of the last seven years with, was turning into entirely something else. Evidence of Jack's presence at her flat had brought him close to make a scene. If this last jealous stunt at Havers' was admissible, what he was feeling for his former partner might even be love.

During any of their trips around Howenstow, it would have been easy to say something, anything for god's sake! Making a fool of oneself seemed always easier in the countryside, he said to himself with a scowl. In the keep of his secluded office, he could picture himself kneeling down before her in the middle of the narrow St Mary's Street with the Truro Cathedral towering over them. In retrospect, he could not believe he had not take advantage of their visit to the ruins of Tintagel either. The ghosts of King Arthur and Guinevere hovering over the cliffs, hundred yards of unleashed waves below and some Tennyson… Well, it was much too late to regret anyway.

He was bad at those things, always taking the wrong turn and stubbornly persevering until it was unbearable. It reminded him of that one night in the car with Havers, some time before Christmas. It was not her old mini but her third hand Lada. The back seat was filled up with months of trashed cardboards and empty beers and coffee cups from her favourite takeaways, her teetering laptop and her huge bag plonked on top of it.

"… and I'm sure once the baby's born, you're going to be totally mad about it."

"You think?"

"Yeah… you're going to be a great dad, I can tell."

She sounded a bit bored and artificially enthusiastic even to his ears. Probably it had been the only conversation he had provided her for the last week and poor Havers was getting tired of playing the part of the confidante. His marriage, Helen, her pregnancy, his fears. It was always about his life, always about him. Deep down, he knew that his marriage had been a mistake from the start. You just don't marry your best friend. That is the rule.

"I'm… I-I don't know. It scares me."

"Well, it's scary for everybody. Having a baby and all, it's kind of a big step, even for you, Sir, lots of changes and new responsibilities, but I'm sure you'll handle it perfectly. For god's sake, take a grip at yourself, can't you see you have it all! Lady Helen carrying your heir, it sounds like a fairy tale. Aren't you happy, for crying out loud?"

She was being true to herself, always the optimist, staring at him with her big green eyes glowing over her warm cup of tea, a cool mist coming out of her mouth slightly twitched on the side. She was looking at him her hands clasped on the hot cup, half turned to face the main suspect's house of this endless investigation.

"Well I guess I'm happy enough…"

She had rolled her eyes and gave him a light punch in the arm, slopping half of her cup on his sleeve.

"Is it the posh version of no?" she said and stopped, her eyes wide open. She bit her lip, her eyebrows rocketing to new levels of prickliness. "Sorry, sir, I didn't mean that. I mean – I-I… that was totally out of line. Please scratch this… Hey…. Sir? It looks like our guy is coming out. Duck!"

She had pushed his head down to the dashboard and the moment was over. What if it was the rule really? What if he was on the verge of making the same mistake all over again? What if he was falling for his best friend -- again?

Ultimately, he was afraid that she never chose to never mention Howenstow again.

"Lynley!" he said answering at the first ring, his heart taking a huge leap in his chest -- and immediately frowned. "Lafferty? Yes… right. I'm on my way."

-o-

Buchanan was enjoying his stay in London at full swing. He had expected Barbie to show him around but he was quite happy to do it on his own or with the boys. He loved his job, he loved the work and being an alien in London made it easier for him to put his grief for the loss of his family somewhere in a place it was not hurting so much any more.

He walked briskly to the embankment, spotting a well known silhouette among the police personnel busy with the two bodies now hidden under some tarp.

"Your Lordship!" he hailed, making Lynley turned back with a defying look on his face. "I'm amazed to find you here so far from Belgravia."

"Very funny Buchanan."

"I thought you were still on leave."

They shook hands.

"I've been back a week ago but paperwork seems to have kept me away from the field. What have we got?"

"Two Caucasian males, traces of paint and synthetic oil on their clothes and upper body. No pants, no shoes. Their fingers have been soaked into sulphuric acid…"

"Prints?" said Lynley, a deep crease on his frown.

Buchanan shook his head. "None, they've been erased. And wait for the rest. Their thumbs have been cut off and their… well… manhood…"

Lynley flinched. "It rings a bell."

"Yep, Russian mob, that was my first thought, I've seen that before too. I mean, one day you're a big gun and the next day they won't even let you the front door. I've seen those bad boys settle score and believe me, it's not pretty. But the penis work, man, it's quite another business. I'm thinking pimp retaliation on bad johns or a grudge between whoremongers gone wrong."

"Bad or wrong doesn't even begin to cover that," Lynley picked up the tarp and gave the first body a thorough look. "What about those cuts on the face? Same on the over one?"

"No - and not a clue. Maybe he tried to defend himself, I would have…"

"Lafferty rang me, have you seen him yet?"

"He called a while ago, problems with his bike or something. He's gonna be here any minute now. We managed to keep people away from the crime scene. A jogger found them. Well, her dog actually. She's with the PCSO."

"It's a she?"

"Yes, 25-28, unemployed. Found the bodies around 07:40 this morning."

"Did you get her statement?"

"Yes, first thing. Nothing fancy. It was still dark. Her dog drew her attention to the bodies. She's a CSI fan. She said she was careful 'not to contaminate the crime scene'… you got to love TV," he sighed.

"OK. It's your call. What's next?"

"Well, let's get this show on the road man!"

Two hours later, they were relaxing over a pint of ale at the Bull's Head, an old pub in Chiswick on the north bank of the Thames. Though very popular at weekends, they were glad it was now virtually empty. Sheltered from traffic, with its low ceilings, timber panel, wooden boards and flagstones, it was the epitome of hundred years of history in Buchanan's eyes. A subdued light was coming through small leaded windows and from his seat he had a perfect view on Oliver's Island and its thick woods.

"It's a haven for birds," commented Lynley, exhaustion reading on his face despite his usual poised attitude, "… herons, cormorants and Canada geese, I'm told." He paused, looking away from the scenery and back to Buchanan.

"Well, hard morning," said Buchanan. "I always wonder…"

"Say no more. I think I will never get used to seeing so many and so inventive crimes."

Silence was de rigueur.

"This pub is quite a find Lynley."

"Actually, I wanted to take you to the 'Barge', but it's newer, since the original fifteenth century pub called 'The Navigator Arms' was destroyed during the WWII bombings of London. I thought you might like the Bull's Head. The surrounding area had changed from a quaint village to a very posh riverside enclave though. It is not unheard of that former fishermen's cottages can fetch extravagant tags."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but Chiswick is in the London Borough of Hounslow?"

"Absolutely. And it means cheese farm in old English."

"Really? I had no idea," he winked. "I guess we're not far from Acton, huh? So what do you think? I'm calling Barbie? She could meet us here. Maybe she'd have some insight on the victims and the crimes…"

Lynley was saved by the passing of a train on the near steel bridge. He shrugged.

"She's still on temporary leave."

"Yes, I know, I live with her, remember?"

Lynley nodded, with a sense of being completely, utterly bereft.

"I've been feeding her with bits and pieces of my last cases since I have been back to London and I tell you man maybe she's lost her memory but she's still a first grade cop. Plain and simple, she's simply working wonders! I can't believe she's not made Inspector yet!"

"Excuse me I'm not sure I'm following you."

"I confess that's the fringe benefit of having a Blackberry paid for by the NYPD and a perfectly reliable broadband connection on my friend Barb's side."

"Really?" said Lynley, uncomfortable with the words 'friend' and 'benefit' used in the same sentence.

"Yes, look, I know I'm not allowed to do that, but you're not going to tell anyone huh? The deal is I send her videos and pics from the crime scenes and some scans of the forensics reports and she just chew around. She's got plenty of time on her hands apart from the shrink sessions and she's more willing to assist me."

Lynley could not say a word. All this time, she'd been working with Buchanan, even when she was still in Howenstow. Hence the long talks over the phone. "I bet she misses work."

"You can tell! I pressed her into taking a break last night or she might have not slept at all! Can you believe that? And you're not going to recognize her when she's coming."

"She's coming?" Lynley forced a faint smile on his face.

"Only if I call her. What can it be? A half hour ride?"

"More or less. Why would… it-it… is she different?" He could not believe he was actually stuttering and in front of Buchanan of all people.

An annoying ringtone startled him.

"You'll see! She just texted me back. She's on her way."

-o-

Barbara retrieved the chirping phone from the kitchen counter and read. "_FYI w/SW1 :p Bull Hd Cheesic come asap dw luv_" _(For your information, I am with Lynley at the Bull Head in Chiswick. Come as soon as you can. Don't worry. Love_) That was Jack. He was with Lynley at the Bull's Head in Chiswick and he was asking her to come as fast as she could.

But why would she worry? Was it because of the investigation? The last thing she wanted right now was having an argument with Tommy about the fact that she was not supposed to be getting back to duty before she was given a go. She called a cab, grabbed her small purse, her keys and her coat and gave herself an appreciative look in the brand new full-length mirror Jack had just bought for her and ran outside to the corner of the street. Chiswick was not exactly next door. Jack would probably stall and make him wait as long as possible but she did not want to take any chances.

She had had ample time to think over her stay in Howenstow and its last dramatic evening. She had been angry with Tommy more than ever before. She could not recall the whole incident, but she had said things she regretted. On the other hand, she was glad they were off her chest even if she had needed a large quantity of fine whiskey, iced vodka, some gin and probably lemon, salt and tequila to finally speak her mind. Boy, had she been smashed!

And he will never dare to tackle her and bring it up for discussion. More likely, he will blame himself for her intoxication and give absolutely no credit to what she had said. Assuming that he will keep quiet, she had no means to find out what had truly happened after she had passed out in the reading room on his priceless rug.

Chucking away for good to oblivion the commotion of the first part of that evening, she concentrated on the rest. At some point, she had fallen out of her drowsiness to find herself on her bed back in her room. Had he needed Denton's help to bring her back upstairs? She doubted it. She was severely drunk but he had hardly touched anything. She was aware that he had carefully planned every step of that evening for her and she had ruined it. Too bad he had gone through all this trouble to send her away. A greasy pub, a pair of sausages and some pints would have done the trick.

To open her eyes had seemed like the most impossible task of all and there was no way she could succeed in going to the loo with this pounding headache and her churning stomach. She put her hands on her tummy to find out that someone had taken care of her dress and underwear and that she was naked under the sheet and duvet. From the unusual scent, the 'someone' she suspected had even used a steeply pricy skin lotion to take off her face her probably smudged make up. She knew how to make an outrageous expensive beauty product out of a cheap one. She had been collecting samples for ages. Not for her personal use. Just to know she had them handy. The lotion was probably his mum's, she smiled.

Extending her arms, she felt a resistance and information hit the fan. NAKED. She was naked. Tommy – it could NOT have been Denton - had undressed her, removed her make up, what else? Images of her heaving over the toilet bowl popped back in a flash. Did he bathe her? Her hair was a bit damp… and now he was asleep beside her, his breathing deep, his face relaxed… and he had his evening clothes on. Contemplating her options, she turned towards him and waited a minute for the room around her to settle down. She ran her finger on the outline of his face, the bone structure of his jaw and cheek. He mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over to her, put his arm on her waist and pulled her to him. She stopped breathing. His mouth was inches of hers. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, it was already 8 and Denton was gently knocking on her door for breakfast. The bed was cold and he was long gone.

And now she was going to see him again. She did not know what to make of that information yet. She was hoping that it will be fun to work with him again.

She sat in the cab and relaxed.

-o-

_thanks for your feedback ;-)_


	15. Chapter 15

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

**PART 1****4**

"Well Havers, I'm lost for words. I had no idea that you were working behind my back!"

That's aftershock talking, she thought.

"I've never done anything behind your back and I would not even think of it… sir," she said, back to their old routine, "contrary to you."

"What do you mean exactly?"

"That's something I'd rather discuss when Jack is not with us sir."

To Buchanan's surprise, Lynley's ordinary pale skin took a decisive shade of red.

"You know perfectly well that I cannot let you work on this case."

"You know I'm a good copper and that it would be stupid to refuse my help! You're stuck anyway so why not work together then?"

"You've not been given clearance yet," he trailed.

"Just as you hadn't when I let you handle the murder of Edie Covington with me in Kent. Remember? You had not been reinstated yet at the time and you didn't seem to mind moonlighting on me as I recall…"

"I see that you're dealing quite well with your memory loss Havers."

"I manage."

A long silence ensued. Lynley was obviously considering his options. Unintentionally, he was openly looking her over. And his stare was far more that appreciative, pondered Jack with a grin.

Following his friendly advice, she was sporting a new hairdo and had enhanced her natural red hair with some discreet highlights. She had shed some weight thanks to Jack. After a few weeks in her small flat, he had bought an exercise bike to save himself the trip to the gym; though she was reluctant to use it at first, considering it was way too hip for her common taste, she finally decided that it was a good compromise: she was using it profusely, learning French with her 'Be Fluent in Less than 15 Minutes a Day' method at the same time and bragged about her witty multitasking every time she had the chance to. For the first time in her life she was planning to spend a great holiday out of Acton and away from work. Next summer she was to go back to the Continent -- alone.

In the aftermath of her kidnapping, contemplating that life was indeed too short she had made up her mind to work on her self-esteem problem for good. She had screened out her closets and picked up what was salvable with Jack's help -- he was man after all - and not only discarded the rest but really threw it away, and that meant that she was not keeping a heap of t-shirts and pants for possible alternate use, such as polishing her shoes or painting the kitchen. No, it was a 'directly out to the garbage' selection. Should she have kept any of her old clothes, she knew that she'd have ended wearing them eventually. She would not take the chance to raid her trash bag next time she was feeling blue. She kept her beloved parka and added a few extra baggy training clothes in the mix, went shopping for suitable replacement in second-hand designer clothes shops with two female colleagues from the Met… et voilà.

She was presently wearing a very chic cashmere-like green ensemble with matching plaid slacks, a pearl necklace, a small golden bracelet she had purchased at H&M's and black glitter ballerina flats with gold buckle across front. She obviously had been practising her skills at using make up and she was really looking fantastic.

Their eyes finally met but he remained silent. From the black leather tote she had placed on their table she extracted a small mirror and made a show at checking her face.

"Got something in your eye?" said Jack.

"No, just thought something was wrong with my make-up," she said chewing on her lower lip.

"You look lovely."

Lynley looked daggers at him and turned his attention back to Havers. "Yes you are, indeed, Barbara."

"Really? So would you be a doll Tommy? Stop being rude and staring at me and please let me help you with the case?"

"OK," he surrendered. "But I don't want you to tread all over the place. Be discreet. Don't interfere. Do we have an agreement?"

"You know me sir," she said, "always the aloof counterpart…"

-o-

She checked her files on the screen one last time. "Sorry Tommy, but it doesn't add up."

"I agree," said Jack. Slouched on her small sofa, he was nursing a beer. Piles of paper files were stacked all over the place and he had displayed a dozen photographs before him on the coffee table.

"What do you mean?" Lynley ran his hands through his hair and leaned back into his seat, his hands behind his head, looking weary and moody.

"Well… I don't buy it sir. Look. According to Lafferty, the first two DOA's were found approximately three hours tops after their death but he doesn't rule out that they could have been put on ice for a while."

"Ok. Where? You would need awfully big ice buckets Havers."

"Be patient, bear with me sir," she said counting on her fingers. "No blood on the scene. No fingerprints, no shoes. But what about the third? Blood everywhere, partial prints. And don't get me started on number four! This one was really messy… You haven't found one ounce of evidence to tie those four bodies to the mob or to any notorious pimp. I say we start all over from another vantage point."

Lynley sighed heavily and sat up straight. "And that's what your fancy charts tell you, I reckon?"

She waved dismissively at her laptop.

"Don't you be judgemental about my computer skills sir! Nope. I came up with this theory all by myself. In fact, Jack too thinks that we are barking at the wrong tree."

"Really, you do?" Lynley turned to Buchanan with a sneer, his eyebrows arched. "Ok, you get my attention Havers. I'm listening."

"You remember the lady with the dog?" asked Jack.

Lynley agreed. "Our witness?"

"Well, I asked Winston to do some digging," said Jack. "She lives alone but her sister doesn't. Three kids, three possible fathers, single mother, a former drug addict. Works at the local Budgens part time and strip at the "Bada Bing" in King's Cross from 10 to 3, five days a week."

"The Bada Bing?"

"Yeah… I know," said Jack. "This Sopranos frenzy will never end. What do you say? You follow my drift? She's been seeing a bunch of guys that the Met tried to nab in the past on account of petty thief and fraud. But it seems that among the lot two of them wanted to think bigger. They got themselves involved in trafficking photographs and videos. Nasty. The under aged type. We believe they could have been involved in a larger pedophile scheme."

"And exit the Russian mob and the local pimps…" triumphed Havers. "And that got me thinking. Jack told me that your witness was a CSI fan…"

"You don't think she could be involved in the murders?" asked Lynley.

"Why not? She has the mobile, she wants to rescue her nephews, and perhaps the guys were not only into video or pictures but also into molesting…"

"They are?"

"Thirteen and eight for the girls. The boy is eleven."

Lynley sighed, took the photographs to watch them again. Barbara was right. Maybe they had missed something. That mob hunch was not leading them anywhere. That was a dead end.

"So you think they watched too many cop shows, made some research on the Internet and provided us with perfect and not so perfect copycat murders?"

Havers and Buchanan nodded.

"What about the victims? You have names? Addresses?"

"The pedophile gang network had only been identified a couple of weeks ago. Project Sapphire are working along with your Criminal Investigation Department. It's gonna take a while to crack all computers and retrieve info from every hard drives, not to mention find out how many people are involved. They arrested more than two hundred people already."

"I see, I guess the correct answer is that you don't."

Jack shrugged apologetically. "Not yet. But I'm working on it. Lafferty should provide me with more details in the next 24 hours."

"So I was thinking," continued Havers. "If she –or they, in the alternative that the two sis are involved- wanted to go after those pervs, nobody would really regret them or bother to report the scumbags were missing. And my guess is that those ladies probably knew more than two of those bastards…"

"… hence the four bodies. So you think they faked the mob crimes to lure us away…"

"Exactly."

"… but they eventually got lazy or something happened and they got rid of the last two bodies in a hurry. But why pose as a witness then? Unless you wanted to be pointed at?"

"Reversed psychology. She came forward to divert attention. She was a decoy. And you have to admit that the dog is a cute touch."

"Yes, if you're right, it is."

"And her sister Marilyn works at Budgens remember? She has access to a cold room," said Jack.

"Except that she got fired a week ago. I went to see the manager," explained Havers. "She didn't show three days in a row then showed up stoned last Friday. He fired her on the spot the same day we found the third victim."

"Look Lynley, you got to admit our theory makes sense!" pressed Jack.

"So what do you say sir?"

Lynley checked his watch.

"I say it's late already. We don't want to get carried away. I say we sleep on it. Besides I have a meeting with Asst. Commissioner Evans first thing tomorrow."

"Want to sleep over sir?"

"Unless I sleep with Buchanan in your spare room and I'm not sure he'd appreciate…"

"You can sleep in my bed sir… I mean you could have my bed and I'll sleep on the couch, I don't mind."

"Thanks Barbara but I have to decline the offer. Speaking of what. Jack, would you consider mine?"

"I will Tommy, the minute this case is over. We're a damn good team Barb and I and we always come up with great ideas through the wee hours of the morning, don't we Barb?"

She nodded awkwardly. "You sure sir?"

Lynley stoop up.

"Yes. I'm officially calling it a night."

-o-

Lynley went back to his flat but sleep eluded him. He was exhausted and felt restless all the same. He was aware that if Jack had not been staying at her place, he would have happily slept like a baby on her couch. Or on the floor.

At 6 o'clock, he was ready to go back to the Met. He took his car out of the garage and headed to his office. The meeting with Evans went smoothly. Provided with new material from Lafferty and a complete file compiled by DC Nkata on the Morgan sisters, he proposed to bring the investigation to a new level and Evans encouraged him to follow that new lead.

It was almost 8:30 am when Buchanan finally showed up and slumped on the chair facing his desk. He sat his strong ristretto on the stacks of files, handed an espresso macchiato to Lynley and smiled.

"Sugar? Short night, huh? How did it go with Evans? Did he buy it?" he said, going straight to the point.

"Yes, he did. He was rather enthusiastic, I must say. I had time to think last night. Barbara is right, we should investigate the sisters. Her idea is as good as any. We're stuck and Evans is going to hand our heads on a plate to the Commissioner if we can't bring in a suspect within the next 24 hours."

"The press will eat you alive first."

"You're probably right," he chuckled. "Fortunately, Winston came up with a bunch of new intel and Lafferty left this on my desk."

Buchanan rummaged through the files sipping on his coffee.

"Those two guys are fantastic, you know that? If Winnie doesn't make inspector before Christmas, I will have to take him away with me when I go back to New York. And Stu, man, this guy is a genius."

Lynley relaxed. Jack's teen like gusto was rubbing off on him. As far as he could remember, no one has ever referred to Lafferty as 'Stu'. Stu… It suits him he thought.

"Before we go hunting, I would like to have a word with you Lynley."

"By all means."

"I would love to take you on your offer to share your loft downtown, but I'm not sure that is in Barb's best interest."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm sure you know about her money problems?"

Lynley nodded, a deep crease on his forehead. Money should never be a problem, he thought, knowing that it was for her on a daily basis. In addition to her mortgage, there were her mother's nursing home, the additional costs while she was in the US and probably more that he had not the first clue about. He was ready to help but he already knew she would never accept.

"For the time being, we made a roommate arrangement and currently share expenses. It's like being back to college, except we never went," he joked. "She needs the money to get back on her feet, you know. They cut her salary when she was on leave. I mean, she did not have to pay for her training but she lost quite a bit in the process, even with the guys' help. But we talked about that already."

"Yes, we did."

"I'm sure she would love to get me out of her hair, but she cannot afford it right now. And it's part my fault because I've drawn her into some futile wardrobe expenses."

"I noticed," said Lynley with an oblique look.

"She wants to be another Havers. Her memory is still totally fuzzy you know, even if she can put some things back together, she doesn't get the big picture yet. I believe that she thinks it is time for her to make a change when her previous life is still a blur. I have to say she surprises me everyday. She's the same person and she's so completely different at the same time. The Barbara I met in New York would never have brazened out this crisis with that much self assurance and bravado. You knew that she booked a two weeks vacation in Paris?"

"You say she's not back to normal?"

"She's far from it actually. At this point, she can't tell what's real or not. I mean she seems to have a very intense imagination. And probably that's why she's such a good cop. The problem is she doesn't seem to disentangle facts from fiction when it comes to her past. She doesn't know what's happened or not."

"I'm not sure that I understand…"

"… sure you do. I don't want to be rude but to put it bluntly I have no doubt that some of your male colleagues assumed that you two were intimate."

He waved a dismissive hand before Lynley could protest.

"I don't care if you weren't. You and Barb worked together, right? I mean long hours in your car or hers or here at the Met or canvassing or interviewed witnesses. People who work together spend more time and know more about each other than most married couples. You know about their friends, relationships, what their hopes are, what secrets they hide deep inside. I'm just telling she's mixed up. Because today, she's lost her bearings, she has no past to relate to that can stop her from doing whatever she wants or ties her up to vague promises or false hopes."

"I see," Lynley finally said. "That was quite a speech…" He finished his coffee and locked his eyes on Jack's. "I guess I have to thank you for your candour."

"Don't mention it."

"You told me you share her flat because she needs the money?"

"And with her Paris stunt, now you know why she's broke…"

-o-

"That was an unforeseeable twist Barbara but I agree you were dead right. I can't believe I missed that this was only a bad turn of events."

Lynley was half seated on his desk facing Jack and his former partner.

"Well actually you concur it was an accident to begin with," she said. "When O'Grady had a heart attack and failed to rape her daughter Marilyn merely panicked. She should have called 999 instead. And if his buddy McBroden had not showed up this minute, he would most likely be alive today."

"And molesting children," said Jack.

"You're not saying they were right to kill these three men are you?"

"I'm not saying anything. I'm not sure I wouldn't have done the same thing in the same circumstances."

"Too bad Marilyn finally OD'ed…" Barbara sighed, looking at her feet and tracing half a circle with the tip of her pump.

"How is she?" asked Lynley.

"Fried," said Jack. "They're keeping her at the free clinic for now but she's gonna spend the rest of her life watered and fed like a house plant. There's nobody home. As for Auntie Caroline, she's gone missing and I don't blame her. Four, sorry, three crimes… Well, I doubt we ever find her anyway. The kids are with the social services now and tomorrow they are sent away to their grand mother in Wales."

"How is young Sophie holding up?"

"Well she can't remember squat and that's a good thing," Havers said averting Lynley's gaze. "Welcome to the club," she whispered.

"My guess is Caroline did it," said Jack. "She tempered with evidence and faked mob crimes. She's good."

"What's next?" asked Havers.

"You mean with our investigation?"

"No sir," she grinned. "I mean anyone fancy a drink?"

"Sorry Havers but I have to see with Winston to clear these files today. You can't spare me two hours, can you?"

"Nope, leaving the building now. No in fact, I was never here!"

"Jack?"

"I'm done for today. I'm only on training here you know…"

"Maybe later then, sir?"

"I'm afraid I have to attend a social event in…"

She cut him off. "Ok sir. See you around then. Are you coming Jack?"

"I'll walk you to your car."

"Adriana?"

"Yes. A diner and a movie. We're taking it slow."

"Good for you Jack," she elbowed him in the chest and turning back to Lynley, "I'm off. Call me if you need me. Have a nice evening sir."

-o-

All the way back to her place, she mulled over the last weeks. It had been good to be somewhat back to the job. But was it something she really wanted? To be a police officer, to become an inspector, go up the ladder.

She was not sure any more. Working with Lynley had been fun but not as much that she anticipated it would. Maybe her expectations or her standards were too high. Jack had told her again and again they used to be a great team but she could not help doubting it. He was stubborn, patronizing, condescending. She could tell he did not consider himself intellectually superior to her or Jack but he was showing off his social background inadvertently and in the end it felt weird to work with a lord.

Jack had briefed her about her so-called feelings. He was a fine specimen, and she knew she was attracted to him but she had the opportunity to get herself a new life and she was ready to move on. Oddly, she could not remember being in love but only subject to a childish crush. Was it that she was lost in admiration before and could not decide if it was only friendship and camaraderie or more?

She pulled over and slammed the door of the car. Spotting light at Azhar's windows she checked her watch. It was too late to pay a visit to Haddiyah and she was not in the mood for her neighbour conversation. She walked quickly to her apartment, locked the door behind her, hung her bag and coat, took off her shoes while walking and disrobed on her way to the bathroom. She would feel better after a long soak in a bubble bath and a glass of wine. She turned on the water, sprinkled a handful of Dead Sea bath salts, courtesy of Jack, and went back to the kitchen to fix her drink.

She sat the glass on the shelf at the bottom of the bathtub and hesitated between two tubes. "_Oyster__ Shell __Extract__, rich in vitamins and minerals, skin protectant. Hydrogenated Lecithin, a natural emollient and antioxidant used to __moisturize__ the skin_" she read on the first one. Is it true that oysters are aphrodisiac, she grinned to herself. She went for the other one instead and applied a generous amount of pink clay mask on her face and neck. Then she did the same on her hair with a mud mask, gently massaging her scalp until she felt tension slacken. She wrapped a towel on her hair and entered the warm bath with a sigh of satisfaction.

Exactly what the doctor ordered she thought. One baby step at a time.

She took a sip of her wine and relaxed.

-o-

Adriana was a good idea gone wrong. Jack knew that she was nothing like his late wife. It was the reason he had accepted to go through the whole process of dating again.

But the fact was she was not either what he intended to find in a woman, not even remotely. She was carefree, young and energetic. Jack Buchanan was looking for calm and gentle with a zest of 'I've seen life as it is and I'm not afraid to confront it'.

He kissed her good night at her door, trying to stay as detached as possible when she seemed so utterly disappointed that he almost changed his mind and headed back to the nearest cab station.

It was time to have the explanation he had delayed. He owed Barbara that much.

-o-

"Jack is that you?" she yelled from the bathroom. "I'm not visible… There's some cold beers in the fridge, help yourself, I'll be right there."

She was foggy and frozen. She might have dozed off, all the bubbles were gone she thought, trying to pull herself together. She shivered in the cold water and sat up straight in the tub resisting the urge to rub her eyes.

She stopped breathing and listened intently. She was alone. She might have…

The doorbell rang again and she jumped splashing water all over the place. She pulled on the small chain and the water started to run down the drain. She took a large beach towel featuring a group of dancing turtles and grinning dolphins, folded it around her and went to the door leaving a water trail behind her.

"Forgot your keys again Jack?" she chuckled and opened the door.

Lynley was standing outside in the dim light of the hallway. He was wearing a dinner jacket with trousers sporting a silken stripe down the side, a bow tie, a pleated sash and a white silk scarf around his neck. The whole shebang.

"You're not Jack."

"And you're not ready to go back to the job yet obviously," he said dryly. "Your powers of deduction are failing you? Or is it the mud in your eyes?"

She felt a burst of uncontrolled anger cloud her judgement and swung the door close. His foot was in the way. The door bounced back and hurt her.

"I'm sorry Barbara."

"That's Havers to you SIR."

"Can we try this again? Please?"

"We? Since when is there is a 'we'? Did I miss something?"

"May I, please?"

Still dripping on the floor she pursed her lips, tilted her head and nodded. "Go ahead. I'm curious. First you barge in and act like a complete prick and now what? You're planning to turn into a frog?" she said.

"Ok, close the door now and imagine I was never here. Can you do this for me please… Havers?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes but did as instructed and the doorbell rang again.

"Are you trying to wake up the entire neighbourhood?" she asked flinging the door open. "Have you any idea what time it is?"

"Don't you think it's time for a truce? Aren't going to invite me inside?"

"I was not expecting you sir."

"Please? We need to talk."

"Don't you think it's a bit late to talk shop?"

"Who said I came to talk about work?"

She went red behind her mask and moved away to let him inside. She closed the door and wiped her face leaving a streak of pink on her hand. "I got to…" she gestured to the bathroom. "I won't be long."

"Take your time Havers. I guess I should not have come but I figure that now I…"

"That's ok sir. Make yourself at home. I wanted to treat myself with some girlie stuff but I must have fallen asleep."

"Hard week."

"Yes, sir. I'll be back."

Lynley hang his coat, walked inside the flat picking up her clothes on his way. He made a neat pile of them on her bed and went back to the kitchen. There was an opened bottle of red wine on the counter but he needed something a bit stronger. He retrieved a bottle of whiskey from the brown bag he had brought with him and poured himself a glass.

He found a mop behind the door and wiped up the soaked floor. Then he took a sip of his glass and sat on the sofa. All the files they had brought back to her place to study were gone and only her laptop was humming on the coffee table. He put it aside and the monitor went alive.

A letter of resignation she had begun to write was displayed. He was not prepared to the possibility that she could leave the Met. Working for Scotland Yard was considered an honour. Leaving it for personal reason was rare if not unheard of. He scrolled down to read it. It was only a draft in progress. Impatiently, he minimized the text to tray and searched through her files for some extra clues.

He found a huge folder with old photographs of her family, her brother, her mum at the nursing home. There was another one called MET. He clicked and found himself engulfed in years of compiled data about her work on different cases and previous investigations. He swept randomly but nothing really stood out. He was on the verge of doing a full sweep of the last directories by date of access when he heard she was coming back from the bathroom. He closed all folders and shut the laptop.

She had rinsed her hair and face and her hair was wet and longer than usual. She was wearing an old oversized green t-shirt with the inscription '_Han Shot First_' printed on the front over black training trousers with two white stripes on the leg. Her feet were hidden inside two huge pale pink plush bunnies.

Her eyes were large, green and puffy. She'd been crying.


	16. Chapter 16

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

**PART 1****5**

"Aren't going to sit down with me?" he said softly.

He was fully aware that he had caught her at a very bad moment. No woman he knew would appreciate to be seen half naked in a ridiculous bath towel with that much beauty products on -- especially not Havers.

"Do you want me to leave?"

She did not move, staring at the wall behind him, tugging her t-shirt. Her eyes met his and he could feel the remaining uneasiness she had experienced. He suppressed a smile and the urge to go hug her. He patted the padding before him and gestured her again to come closer. They had to talk through this mess first.

"I know it's not a good time Barbara. But I'm afraid there will never be a good time. If I keep on waiting, it's unlikely the moment will ever present itself and it will be too late. I have come to the conclusion that I must make things happen."

She sighed. She knew she was chewing her lip again but she could not help it. She gave him a long steady look. Lynley was obviously on one of his missions.

Was it that he needed to confide in her as usual? Surely enough he came over to get a friendly advice, what else? Even though she was still struggling with her amnesia, she has had time to observe Lynley when she was in Howenstow and then back to London helping him undercover. He was probably yet again deep into another relational conflict with the latest bimbo he had picked up at one of his fancy parties. Well maybe toffs wouldn't use the term bimbo when referring to their lot, she thought.

The poor lad was the by-product of a lost era, a dinosaur so to speak, a former typical repressed public school boy, still unable in his late thirties to connect with his feelings and she felt sorry for him. The confusion that had been his love life so far was proof enough that he still did not have a clue of how to forge a true relationship and keep it alive.

Or he would not exile himself this late in the suburbs with a tux on to discuss the meaning of life with a female colleague.

But who was she to criticize him? Her love life was not a mess, she did not have one to begin with. Neither had when she was younger and now she was either with her mum, locked inside her apartment with a pile of junk food or on the road tracking villains and turning into a stale spinster. She could not help from craving for her former boss like a teenager but the new improved full of it Barbara blew it on some stupid beauty treatment, the first she had had in a decade or two -- or ever! She was going to kill Geraldine for ever talking her into it.

On top of it, she could not decide on what to wear after he caught her up in her horrid towel. As a result she has chosen to punish herself and has dressed like a stupid middle-aged insignificant woman. She wished she had kept at least one of her lucky charm pyjamas, the pink one with the bunnies that match her slippers. Jack's t-shirt was comfortable but it did not feel right.

Her good armchair was in her guest bedroom so she sat as far away from Lynley as possible on the small settee, tucking one leg under her in a childish manner. She folded her arms loosely and leaned on the head rest.

It was going to be a long night. So much for the girlie evening she intended to spend listening to her 'best of Westlife' cd on repeat reading the cheap romance novel she had bought on her way back from 'work' with a glass of Merlot, a chicken tikka and a pack of Twix or two. '_Twice as much chocolate, biscuit and caramel for your money_', she said to herself. What a joke she was. Well, let's get it over with.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir. It's been the hardest time for me lately and I'm still struggling to get back on my feet really," she nodded.

"I won't be long, I promise. I know I'm being selfish here and I would not dare to impose on you, but I have to get it out of my chest -- tonight. It won't hurt. At least I hope it won't."

"You understand that you don't make any sense, do you? Have you been drinking?"

It was his turn to sigh. He smiled and shook his head.

"If you don't mind, I'll go straight to the point then."

_That's a figure of speech, Tommy. I'm not supposed to say I mind.__ I wouldn't dare to be upset. Why do you do this all the time? I feel like a diabetic in a candy store when you're around. Please go, just go, go… Better be listening_.

"After you left the Met, I worked for an hour or so, and Winston liaised with Stu to get the files updated."

"Stu?"

"Lafferty."

"Lafferty… Oh. Ok."

She relaxed. It was only work after all, nothing she could not handle.

"Then I went back home to get ready for the fund raiser."

"I was not aware it was a charity thing."

"Yes it is. It's part of the '_Stop Child Labour_' campaign. I was supposed to meet Lady Alice. You remember her don't you?"

She nodded again. "Can I share your drink?"

_Perfect recipe for a disaster:__ first show up covered with a revulsive mask, then parade in a baggy outfit and finally the nice touch, get sloshed. Can I be any more off-putting? Jack won't never believe me -- that's the worse evening ever._

He handed her his glass. She cuddled against the arm rest.

"I was already late when I took the car out but then realised I had forgotten some papers and went back to go get them. Buchanan was on his way out."

"Jack? Why on earth would he call at your loft? Wasn't he supposed to be on a date?"

"His date did not go as planned. Well, you'll have to ask him, it's not my place to share his evening with you."

"I see," she smirked. Lynley was getting restless. Maybe she should stop interrupting and just listen.

"The fact is… what he told me made me think," said Lynley with a hint of irritation.

He was not usually so quick at getting angry with her. He should have known better, when feeling attacked she was always prone to fight back.

"Think, really?" Alcohol had worked its magic and she was no longer the embarrassed and awkward woman she was when he had showed up on her porch. "We've known each other what, six, seven years? Why do you choose to knock on my door to expose your thoughts now, I mean tonight? What's so special that it can't wait until you ring me tomorrow morning? Or do you plan to stop calling me?"

She sat the glass back between them.

"I did not want to discuss this particular issue over the phone."

"What's the problem? Is it about the charity?"

"No it's not," he deliberately raised his voice. His eyes were cold and his jaws clenched. "I'll send a check. I don't have to show up to every charity ball in town you know."

"Ok," she said cautiously. She had no idea where he was heading to. "So you missed your party and decided to come all the way to Acton instead to tell me that Jack had got you thinking? It's a little farfetched don't you think sir?"

He took a large gulp of his whiskey and flashed her an irate stare.

"I asked you already. Please call me Tommy."

"Is it about the case then?"

"For god's sake Barbara, for just one minute, forget Jack, forget the charity, forget the Met, will you? I'm here to talk about us."

Her eyes went wide with surprise and she felt warmth spread through her. "What did Jack tell you exactly?" she asked.

She had a fair idea. Jack has relentlessly tried to push her in Lynley's arms. When she told him that Tommy had spent their last night in Howenstow with her, in her bedroom -- on her bed, he literally went ballistic. He wanted her to confront him immediately. She had refused to. And now Tommy wanted to talk. Damn you Jack, she thought. He was probably going tell me what I already knew, that we were friends and never will be anything else.

"We talked quite a bit actually… he told me that life was too short… well it kind of sums it up."

"That's a real page-tuner," she shrugged raising a dubious eyebrow.

"He added that you feel about me the way I do about you," he said candidly.

She scanned his face. He was sincere, it was not a sham. _Just my luck. I've come to terms with my life as it is and he decides to clear his conscience and come clean._ She had to turn him down without alienating him.

"And would you be so kind to enlighten me on what I feel?"

She had to push him away, to pretend she did not care for him. All these years she had been so busy hating him for what he was and loving him for just the same reasons; it was like a second skin now. She would encourage him to leave her alone, that was the right thing to do. Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of her life without him; no false hopes left. She could not believe that she was actually planning to reject him.

He was hesitant.

"I don't want to lie to you Barbara. I did not fall head over heels in love with you the first time I saw you."

God, he was doing it, being the perfectly honest man that he was. Regardless of her resolutions, she could not suppress a smile.

"Ouch," she said, "I was so confident in my magnetic seduction… Now you got my attention."

"It has been a bumpy road, but you've always been a friend to me notwithstanding our differences. I know you will never see life as I do. But lately I had time to re-think what I really expected out of life."

His voice was affectionate and tender. She was going to melt down, she knew it. Despite her strong self-will, she was not sure she could actually resist him since she was already contemplating reaching out to hug him. She decided to reach out to the glass instead and he poured some whiskey before she even had time to ask for refill. Alcohol was the easy way to shed the pretence but she was not sure she was ready to go down this path just yet even after all these years.

"I'm listening," she said. She sipped on the glass and found comfort in the welcomed heat. "What do you expect now that you didn't before?"

"You have to believe me when I tell you that I don't mean to be rude but I have to confess that I have been aware from day one that you fancied me."

"You conceited prick!" she cried. "How would you know?"

"I do."

"You've come over to patronize me? I can't believe it!"

He waved at her. "Please let me explain my point of view. You probably did not have a soft spot for me right away because you were so prejudiced against the '_fast-track Oxford golden boy_' and '_arrogant aristocratic ponce_' that I am. You despised me too much then."

She rolled her eyes. "I thought you were over it sir! I cannot be held responsible for your reputation at the Met."

He chuckled. "I am trying to put things into perspective. Nevertheless you know as well as I do that we developed more than a deep friendship. By the way, I appreciate all the efforts you put into fostering a future with Helen."

Oh oh. He knew.

"It was my mistake. We were simply not meant to be. The obvious choice is not always the right one and yet this choice was in front of me -- so blatantly that it took me some time to realize it. Barbara, I'd rather spend months alone with you anywhere than another single evening with my so-called friends in London."

"Are you trying to have sex with me sir?" she joked trying to guide him back swiftly to their natural usual banter.

"We should probably have got that part out of the way a long time ago," he mused.

"You were my boss! I could have you arrested for harassing me," she protested weakly.

"It's only a technicality. We would not have been the first partners to have an affair," he said casually.

"You were married…"

"Thanks to you. Sorry, I'm being unfair. Sometimes it's what's wrong that's right. By the way, I haven't been your boss for almost two years and you're not officially back to duty. The question is do you want me to make love to you?" he delivered bluntly his face undecipherable.

He's not joking, she pondered to herself. She had to stop this charade right now and make him leave.

"So you came over to bang me and have the chance to demonstrate that you measure up to your fame?"

She could not believe she had actually said that. Engaging on that slippery slope was tempting now that alcohol was making her heart pound hard inside her chest and her temples throb.

"So what am I considered exactly? A Don Juan or a Casanova? Humour me."

"You really don't expect me to answer this question and have you strut around like a rooster in a hen house in the middle of my living room? My flat is too small for your ego your Lordship."

"Can I be both then?" he joked.

"Well you already know that you're a fine specimen and a lady magnet. Rumour has it you're also a great lay," she cast a glance over her glass.

"Really? How would you know?"

"Plant some bugs in the ladies room for starters. You're on for a treat."

"I had no idea I was feeding the rumour mill."

"You're kidding me right? As your female partner, I've been subject to every joke known to mankind because I wasn't part of your tally."

"I had no idea they were keeping score. You will have to give me names."

"What do you care?"

"So that I shall retaliate," he chuckled.

"My knight," she smiled before biting her lip and turning red. This was getting out of hand. Whiskey was clearly not a good idea. She had to stop drinking to stay on the safe side.

"Want some?" he said retrieving the bottle on the coffee table to pour himself another glass.

And on top of it he could read her mind. She shook her head and handed him the glass back. His hand brushed hers and he smiled.

"Barbara, as much as I enjoy your thorough insight on Scotland Yard grapevine, I'm sure you understand why I had to see you tonight."

"More to touch me than to see me sir," she joked half-heartedly staring at his fingers now clasped on her wrist.

That was odd. They had been together numerous times at night in motels, inns and in a caravan or even at his place or hers, sharing thoughts or confiding in each other freely but they never touched except by accident. She shot him an uncertain side-glance. He was dead serious all of a sudden. While caressing the inside of her wrist with his thumb, he put back the glass and the bottle on the table, his eyes never leaving hers. He stroked her cheek and pushed back her fringe.

"Yes… You're right," he said, drawing her closer to him; fondling her back, he rested his chin on her head.

She was half lying on the couch pressed against him, her ear to his chest. His heart beat was steady and calm. She had to put an end to this torture and make a decision. She could not spend the rest of her life fighting the world and rejecting him at the same time it required too much stamina.

She knew that he was tolerant enough to accept her lack of social skills, her chronic bluntness and her never-ending insecurities. On the other end, she was not a hundred percent certain she was open-minded enough to put up with his over protectiveness and micro-managing obsessions.

"It's late sir, you don't want to make a bad judgement over liquor and regret it in the morning." What ever happened to her fantasy of healthy sex between two consenting adults? "I'm calling you a cab," she said trying to escape his embrace.

"No you're not." Lifting her chin with his finger, "I won't regret a thing if you don't. I know that you care for me. I can safely say that I love you as you are. In fact I love you it's what I want to say really. When I came over here, I'm not sure I envisioned I'd admit it so easily, but I love you Barbara."

_I l__ove you too, Tommy._

"And I'm willing to give it a try -- to you and me, to us. What do you say?"

She did not want to acknowledge out loud what he just told her. Not yet anyway.

"Where is Jack?" she said in a muffled voice, her mouth against his crispy white shirt.

Gently, he moved away enough to see her face and pushed back stray locks of wet hair.

"Listen to you material girl," he smiled. "He's at my place, probably soaking in the jacuzzi and drinking my best Chardonnay right now. So, what do you say? Need I say more?"

"Are you trying to get into my bed sir?"

"Now I can see why you did not make inspector yet," he chuckled.

She punched him lightly in the chest.

"What if I were? We're both old enough to have consensual sex. It's not unheard of between adults."

Maybe it's all there is to it, she thought. She should let go and if it turns out they were wrong and it was not meant to last, well be it. At least she would have had him for one night.

"Ok."

"Is it a yes?"

"I mean I can see your point. Actually, from where I stand, I can feel already a token of your affection."

"Havers, I'm only human," he laughed. "And first of all you don't stand you're all over me already and your hair is dripping on my dinner jacket. Come on, let's get you warm and dry."

He held her tightly and stood up with his arms around her. She tilted her head back and felt his breath on her face. He stooped and kissed her lightly, his eyes almost black.

"You did not turn into a frog," she grinned sheepishly.

"Shall I try again then?"

He scooped her head gently and he kissed her. Parting her lips with his tongue he deepened his kiss, caressing her neck and the small of her back. She found herself responding fiercely and flinging her arms around him, searching his skin, her body pulling at his.

He swept her from her feet and took her to her bedroom.


	17. Chapter 17

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

**PART 1****6**

She could not sleep afraid that she wakes up and he'd be gone or worse to find out it has only been a dream.

Just about every part of her body had been kissed or probed or caressed. Her skin was still tingling with desire though her initial arousal was wearing off. She grinned and thought she should go and check in a mirror if she still looked the same. She did not feel the same at all -- it was a fact.

She was not the virgin queen and never pretended to be if asked. Nobody ever cared to ask. She had had her lot of bad experiences in the past, enough to stop fooling around.

It started the year she took her SGSE exams and signed up for a photography class to impress Trevor. Man, was she young. The boy was a real jerk and had been circulating intimate photos of her amongst his pals for a fee.

Then she joined the force and after a few evenings of whooping it up with the boys and ending in every other different bed, she decided against it. Not that she was against casual promiscuity with colleagues but she discovered that besides the easy and expected immediate feel good result, sleeping around was not her cup of tea.

Before she knew it, her parents' health went down the hill and she withdrew from social or emotional involvement. After a while, nurturing her bad temper into a well-oiled defence mechanism, she had protected herself behind a thick shield and was catalogued in no time as the worst person to be seen along with. Of course she had some random comfort sex with strangers at weddings and funerals but working with Lynley made that part of her love life impossible to take up. Hence the dating agency cover up disaster.

She blinked back to the semi darkness of her bedroom, contemplating the past years at being her colleague and her friend. The hatred she initially felt for him had soon turned into uncompromising love and on a professional level she rapidly found comfort into working with someone easy on the eye who was not only the top notch but her perfect counterpart. He had been everything to her for all these years and had just become much more. Was it even possible?

She bit her lips in a foolish attempt to stifle a silent bellow. Her heart was so filled with love and happiness that she could hardly breathe. She could have cried and laugh at the same time, run all over the place and trampoline on the bed like a child.

The object of her affection was sleeping like a baby, snuggled against her under the duvet with his arm resting on her waist, his head nested in the hollow of her shoulder. Tomorrow – well today actually, she will have time to think about what was in store for her. When you sleep with your boss and your best friend, you've got to expect consequences, it comes with the territory. All she wanted now was to curl up in his arms and forget about the future when they both have to pretend it never happened.

But neither her bladder nor her stomach seemed to agree with her wishes. At the moment, she was confronted with the dilemma of having to leave him or starve to death. She managed to extricate her leg from under his and slowly rolled away to free herself from his body without awakening him. He mumbled something in his sleep and clutched her pillow greedily. She stood up and stumbled upon clothes and everything they had managed to drop on the floor during their experimental love making.

She discovered a path across the cluttered floor and rushed to the bathroom. She felt tempted by a long hot shower but then she would wash away their combined scents and she was not sure she wanted that so soon.

She retrieved her Indian takeaway from the fridge and thrust it inside the microwave oven then pondered about the need of eating a hot meal. Her flat was small and the smallest noise will jeopardize her solitude. Having Lynley barging in on her while she was eating out of the box in the nude on a bleak London morning was not a thought she cherished. On the other hand to have a cold snack was a worse idea if possible. She still felt a bit sick and hangovered, thanks to her heavy drinking the evening before -- which was the only way of dealing with a crisis she seemed to master so far. She was lost in her thoughts when two warm hands hugged her from behind and a chin with a stubble found his way to her neck.

"Cheating on me already and with a microwave no less?"

"It's only chicken tikka, it's not a real threat sir, unless you want to actually eat it."

"Hungry?"

"Famished, I haven't had the chance to eat anything yesterday evening and…"

"… you should have told me. I missed dinner too. We should have eaten out. I know a lovely place not far from here."

"And miss dessert?"

He chuckled. "You're right."

"Am I not often?"

He kissed her hair and ear and snuggled against her. Suddenly she was not hungry any more, or maybe she was but it had nothing to do with chicken or chocolate. Despite nothing had changed in their easy flirting banter here they were, standing naked in her kitchen. Lynley was kissing and caressing her and nothing had ever felt so right in her life. And he did not seem to mind…

"What have we got?" he asked totally oblivious of the unusual situation.

She opened the takeaway box and he took a look inside.

"Are you sure there's any chicken in there? I don't mean to be rude but you really expect me to eat this?"

"I'm the one who bought it and I'm not even sure I want to try," she said with a shrug, "but that's about everything I've got, that and a pack of Twix."

"Toast?"

"Maybe, let me check."

She opened the cupboard and shook her head. "Jack probably ate the last of it."

"Coffee?"

"Nope. Tea? Ordinary bags, you know the ones you buy by the tons with only dust and artificial flavour guaranteed inside. I'm sorry, I was not expecting anybody. Jack was on a date and it was kind of my girls' night out -- only at home and alone."

"And of all nights, I chose to impose myself on you."

"Would you mind imposing on me again?"

"You will have to blame it on chicken then," he grinned, his hands already restless. He cupped her breast and nibbled at her mouth. "Mmmmm… you taste better that chicken."

She pushed him against the counter and kissed him hard. If he was surprised, he did his best to match her pace. He knew he had been attracted to her for a long time but kissing her was even more sensuous and gratifying than he had imagined and it brought attraction to a new level. After her tongue had explored every inch of his lips, it barged fiercely inside his mouth, fighting against his tongue sucking and licking avidly. Her large green eyes kept staring at him and he felt as clumsy and gawky as a teenager on a first date and he responded with ardour.

Her hips pressed against his, she pushed him away from the kitchen; he finally lost his balance and fell on the sofa with a thump, panting heavily. She sat on top of him a challenging look on her face and kissed him again, gently this time. She slumped on him and put her arms around his neck then ran a hand in his thick hair.

"Enough with the cliché," she smiled, "I will need to buy some food," she whispered in his ear, "want to come with?"

"Yes," he breathed in her ear, "later."

-o-

It was a clear morning which should probably turn into a bright sunny day. Lynley was calmly strolling in the cereals and coffee aisle while Havers was in charge of finding bread, butter, marmalade and fresh fruits. He grabbed a box of eggs and a bottle of mineral water and sat his findings in front of the cashier.

"Nice outfit my Lord. Ain't it a bit late already for a vampire to be wandering outside in the street? You know with the deadly daylight thingie and everything?" she mocked him.

She was no more than 17, looking already bored at 7:30, and sporting a gothic make up, her ice blue eyes smeared with black pencil, her skin white and her lips a deep blood red.

"I'm trying a new substitution diet," he said.

She flashed him a big smile. "Neat."

"Hello Sandy, I see you met my b… my friend already," cheered Barbara, "how are you this morning?"

She bit her lower lip. She almost let slip the forbidden 'boyfriend' word out and was glad Lynley did not notice. _He probably thought I was going to say he was 'my boss'_. It felt so natural though. _My boyfriend… As if it will ever happen. Last night is about all you will get._

"Never better, I'll be out of this hole next week."

"Really, I'm sorry to hear that, you'll be missed."

"Ya bet. That's 11.47£ for you Barbara."

Lynley was quicker at producing the money and she rolled her eyes mouthing a 'I'll pay you back later'.

"You plan to stick round?"

"Na. Russ's taking me to Manchester. He's in a band now…"

"Oh, I see. Well have a nice day Sandy. See you around."

They left the store and Lynley turned to her.

"I never imagined you having a supermarket conversation Barbara."

"Hey, I'm a nice person, I shop, I talk to people. And you, if you don't mind me saying you had it coming sir with your dinner jacket and all. I told you you could have some clothes from Jack's closet. That's exactly why I asked of you repeatedly to bring a sleep over bag at my place."

"So that you could take advantage of me? Not a chance!"

"Oh stop it!" she grinned.

They walked silently for a moment. She was not sure what to do. They'll have some breakfast, then she'll make up some urgent business she had to attend to, maybe go to see her mum later in the afternoon. She was looking at her feet and counting steps when she sensed that he was staring.

"I've know her since she was a baby," she explained seriously, "I used to babysit her big sister when they were living near my parents'. She's a nice kid. She'll be back in a jiffy. That Russ guy is a dickhead."

"You know a lot of people in the neighbourhood I guess…"

Small talk, she thought; I can do that.

"Been here a while. Don't freak out sir, we're not going to go all '_shaun of the dead_' on you."

He smiled imagining Havers and her zombie neighbours besieging the Met. "I'm coming to get you, Barbara," he joked.

"You're a Simon Pegg fan really? There's a lot I don't know about you, I guess… Well this place is as friendly as any when you've been around long enough."

"Let me get your bag. Do we need anything else?"

She shook her head.

"Ok, let's go then. Will you let me fix you breakfast?"

"You're welcome sir."

"Barbara, would you stop calling me sir, it's a bit weird don't you think, considering…" His eyebrows rocketed and he made a face.

"Barbie. I prefer Barbie, if you don't mind," she said sheepishly, "my mum used to call me Barbie, I miss it. Just don't do let it slip at work, people would talk."

"Barbie it is then."

"Thank you… your lordship," she said with a bow.

-o-

"That was perfect Tommy; I did not picture you as a cook."

"That's because I ditch the apron when I'm on the job." He kissed her and went back to the kitchen for a coffee refill. "Barbie, it's only toast and eggs I'm afraid."

"It was lovely nevertheless, thank you."

"As a matter of fact I knew you of all people could eat but I'm impressed. What is it? Your third helping?"

"Fourth," she smiled, "but surely you won't dispute this is entirely your doing sir?"

"How do you explain it's only my second then?"

"Are you challenging me Tommy?"

She tilted her head with a grin on her face and took the tray back to the counter.

"I would if I were 20 again," he said lightly, "but I'm not getting any younger. As much as I would like to take you at your word, I prefer to wait a little bit more if you don't mind."

"Aren't you going to be late then?"

"To be late? To be late for what, good heavens?"

"Work obviously."

"It's Saturday," pretending to be concerned by her mental health.

"It did not stop you before as I recall."

"I won't be going to the Met today. Let's go to the park or see a movie or the new exhibit at the Tate."

He turned his back to her, put the dishes in the sink and started casually to do the washing up. She was so stunned that did not even begin to protest against it.

"There's Rothko at the Modern and Bacon at the Britain," he said unaware of her reaction. "We could take the Thames cruise and do both and have a nice lunch somewhere."

Why would he take her to an exhibition? He never offered to take her out before, except when they were on a case. And she had no idea who the hell were Rothko or Bacon; even if their names rang a bell, she would make a fool of herself.

"Next time I'll take you to Saint Ives to their Heimo Zobernig exhibition, I loved it! And don't get me started on Barbara Hepworth and her work in the gardens. So, what do you think, is it a plan?"

And why on earth would he go back to Cornwall with her? This was supposed to be sex, not an affair. With his mother in Howenstow, it would be terribly difficult to hide they were sleeping together. She would never be able to put up with meeting his mother again in such gruesome circumstances, it would be too humiliating for either of them. And Lady Asherton would be so disappointed in him… Of course there was always the possibility of staying in the vicinity; he might find her a room in a nearby hotel. That would be convenient. He was still waiting for her answer and eventually glanced back to her inquisitively.

"You… you want me to tag along," she hesitated.

"Of course I do!" he said turning off the tap. "I do have to go back to my apartment first to change unless you want to stay inside but it's a wonderful day, I'd rather do something."

"It's just that…" She looked awkward and embarrassed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Surely you have other plans already, I should have asked."

"I… -- huh, I thought…" she muttered averting his eyes. "I may as well tell you now and get it over with."

He leaned on the counter and simply stood there gawking at her. "I cannot believe… you thought that I was going to sweep last night under the rug, didn't you?"

She shook her head and tried to conceal she was blushing. "Listen I… -- I don't know what I thought… but surely you understand we can't do that, don't you?"

"Do what?"

"I mean like being an item, sleep together."

"Is it a one time thing for you? Is it what you want Barbara?" he asked in a wide-eyed astonishment. "And that you could take me for granted with no strings attached, friends with benefit?"

"I never took you for granted sir, it's…"

"Please, don't do that. You did hear what I told you yesterday? I love you Barbara. I'm not going anywhere. Not without you that is."

She went pale and he rushed to hug her.

"Say you don't. Say it. Say that you don't love me." He buried his face in her dishevelled hair. "Don't you want at least try to give us a chance?" he whispered. "Because I'm willing to. I won't give up on you without a fight -- if I have to."

She shrugged and tried to free herself of his hold.

"Barbara, please look at me," he raised her chin with one finger, "won't you say something, anything… Aren't you happy? Because you must know that I'm the happiest man on earth this morning."

She looked at him her jaws clenched, her eyes misty with tears and he resisted the urge to kiss her. She nodded against his hand and glanced through her hair.

"Yes," she said softly. "I am. At least I think I am. I don't know…"

During all these years he knew that she cared for him, probably a lot more than she was supposed to and he had been vain enough to be flattered. She encouraged him to commit and be married and yet it must have been difficult for her to be so supportive. And now, when they finally found each other, she was rejecting him. He was on the verge of losing his temper when she gestured him to be quiet. He could spot a hint of anger on her face. She inhaled deeply.

"I've got news for you Tommy. If you can't remember, I still can despite my amnesia that you were my boss for six years, and technically you're still my boss. So what do you think? That I busted my ass on this job for nothing? Don't you know what they'll do to me if they ever find out about what happened last night? The minute they learn, I'll be burnt! I don't intend to lose everything because I hit the sack with you."

He let go of her, puzzled and hurt. That was totally unexpected.

"I know how easy it would be to get ideas into my head and I was prepared for a one night stand; after all these years lusting after you, I thought it was a well deserved reward. I spent too much time already warding off false expectations."

He furrowed his brow as revelation sank in.

"Bottom line, for the time being, let me be Barbara Havers, on leave for medical reasons, living in a flat with a mortgage attached and sharing it with a New York copper to make ends meet. I'm not the old me any more. I don't even know who was the old me; she loved you, I know that much," she confessed. "I have no idea if the new me does…"


	18. Chapter 18

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

**PART 1****7**

"I have no idea if the new me loves you…"

She cuddled up in his arms and he cradled her gently.

"… yet."

"I understand," he whispered in her hair, "but you still want me huh?"

She pushed him away and gave him an outraged glance. He changed his strategy immediately.

"There's no need to hurry, we'll take it slow, see where it leads us. No strings attached. Listen, I never said anything about throwing an engagement party and advertising it in _the Guardian_," he joked.

It produced a faint smile on her face. He could feel he was winning her back and pushed his advantage.

"On the other hand, I'm a public figure and we don't want _The Sun_ to mess with our lives. However you must agree that we've been seen together about everywhere in London and in the rest of the country until today. You think we should proceed with caution, right? As far as the rest of the world or our colleagues are concerned, nothing has changed. Well technically it changed, but no one needs to know… apart from Jack, am I right? We just keep doing what we used to. Let's hang out like we always did."

"We used to hang out?" she laughed. "Sir really?"

"For Christ's sake, you know what I mean!"

"Yes, I do. I can see that I'm overreacting. But the last thing I want is the whole department to think that…"

"They won't. Why would they? Nobody would honestly believe it took me so long to get into your pants," he said very seriously. She punched him and he smiled. "Honestly, it's not your type to sleep your way up, everybody knows that already. Is it your memory loss or don't you remember that you were considered a lost cause as much as I was?"

"Ok."

"Ok? Ok what for? Could you be any more specific?"

"I'll give it a try."

"Let me ask you something then. Forget about what the others might think. I'm crazy about you Barbara, can't you see that?"

"Please, I just... it's-- can we talk about this later? It makes me uncomfortable."

"Sorry, I did not mean to; but please don't push me away; at least give me the same chance you give Jack: let me be another shoulder you can cry on. If you trust me to be your friend, there's nothing you cannot tell me, you must believe that at least."

"You don't understand!" she wriggled away from him in exasperation. "That's exactly the problem Tommy. I don't want to lose you as a friend."

"You won't. That's a promise."

"After six years of having you as a friend you choose to tell me now? What kind of friend are you?"

"The kind you can rely on, no matter what. Now, would you stop being so overly dramatic?"

"Don't make fun of me. This is all new for me."

"That's a tie then." He kissed her and pushed a tangle of hair away from her eyes."

"At least you don't see me as an embittered spinster," she chuckled.

"How can you be so sure?" he sounded relieved. "First of all, let's do this properly. What do you want to do? I'll tag along, if you will have me."

She hit him lightly in the chest and smiled. "Thank you."

"Would you ever stop thanking me?"

"I'll try."

-o-

It took her like forever to select what to wear and all this new girlie time consuming thing was getting on her nerves. After they managed to call a cab, they were finally en route to his flat and their grand day out.

"I don't think so," she wailed. "In my book, I owe you two tenners and two guineas. I can't believe that we are arguing over sharing expenses."

"You're not serious are you?"

"I am sir. There is no way I will let you pay for my grocery."

"It is not YOUR grocery, it was our breakfast. Surely you do not expect me to pay you back for your hot water and hot sex, do you?"

She looked at the cab driver's nape and went beet red.

"Sir," she hushed him. "I'm pretty sure he can hear you…"

"Free speech is not a crime."

"Please don't!"

"You have to agree on one thing. At least we learned that we are compatible," he teased.

The driver winked openly at him in the mirror.

"You're not paying for the exhibition and that's final," she said stubbornly.

"You're right, I'm not."

"Finally you've come to your senses."

"You know Havers, I'm a Tate patron. That means I have unrestricted access to all exhibitions with no extra booking fee.

"I'm glad we could have this talk," she rolled her eyes.

He chuckled and kissed her.

She let him pay for the cab without another protest and he escorted her to his flat. She barely remembered his old place and she had not been to his loft since they had been back from Cornwall. Leading her inside, a light hand on the small of her back, he rang at the door before letting them in.

"Jack, I'm home!" he chanted. "Come on in. Denton is still in Cornwall, he won't disturb us."

She shook her head. "There's a note, Jack's handwriting."

"Would you read it for me please? Aren't you eager to discover all our dirty secrets?"

She looked threateningly at him and read. Lynley disappeared upstairs.

"He's gone to the Met I guess," she said in a loud voice so that he could hear her. "And I'm going to kill him with my bare hands," she added softly for herself heading for the bedroom.

"What's on the note?" shouted Lynley from the bathroom. "Sorry, I had no idea you were so close," he said with an apologetic smile when he ran into her in his underwear.

"See for yourself," she handed him the sheet and sat on the bed. Extending her leg, she watched her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing black leather slingbacks with a 2.5 inch heel. She never wore pointed toe shoes or heels and it was a totally new experience. Wearing a dress was new as well and she was glad she had opted for a classic. It was a bi-colour long sleeve dress with black jersey top and purple silky faille skirt with a large sequined belt she had bought in Camden. To give it a more casual look, she was sporting the oversized hammered coin necklace Haddiyah and her father had given her for her last birthday.

She caught Lynley's reflection behind her. He had changed into casual wear which means he was more ready to meet the Queen than she will ever be. He was trying to figure out the note. He had this deep crease on his forehead that she found so endearing and he looked puzzled.

"I hate texting; I don't understand the half of it. I must be older than I think," he apologized. "I'm afraid I need your help. Why are you so good at that by the way?"

She sprang from the bed and grasped the note.

"It's easy. It's the cheapest way to use your phone. Well…"

_Gotta run W __CM. _

_Btycl?? JK ;) _

_If B killed U, 2 bad. If B did not kill U, _

_yadda yadda. _

_Either way, I WIN!!_

_Gotta keep your keys ;) _

_hand ttyl__ Jack_

"… what part do you not understand?"

"_I have to run. Winston_…_ called me_?"

"So far, so good," she nodded.

"What could possibly _btycl_ mean?"

"This one is easy, that's _booty call_, sir" she smirked.

"Oh… - I see," he said his face indecipherable, "_JK_?"

"_Just kidding_."

"_Just kidding_… you find that funny? Well… _If B_ – I have to assume it's you, right? _If Barbara killed you too bad_… _If Barbara did not kill you_… _either way I win… I can keep your keys_," he smiled, "then there's a wink right? But what the hell is _hand_ _ttyl_? I will hand it out to you or something like that, am I any close? It doesn't make any sense!"

"_Have a nice day, I will talk to you later_. See, it was not so hard."

"I can hardly be held responsible for HIS note, can I?"

She took a pen from the bedside table and wrote at the bottom of the note – _STFU_. He shook his head in despair.

"And this means?"

"_Shut the f… up_. Now will you come already… -- your Lordship? Have you forgotten that you have to educate a poor working class girl and turn her into a lady? Maybe you should buy a wand and its magic spell handbook directly from eBay, it'd be easier."

"Barbara, educate you, not bloody likely!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"'_Pygmalion_'? George Bernard Shaw?"

"Oh, we went to see it with my mum and dad when my brother was still with us." She was silent for a moment. "Nope, you can't be Higgins. He is such a jerk. I never understood how Eliza could put up with that prick. You're more like a Colonel Pickering to me. You always treated me like a lady as far as I recall. Sorry," she pondered, "that was weird wasn't it?"

He did not say anything but caressed her cheek gently instead. She shook her head and wiped her eyes, then tucked her hair behind her ears.

"Come on yaaahr lordship I washed me 'ands an' face an' I'm ready ter go."

-o-

"God, I can't believe it took us the whole day," she said. "Art is exhausting."

"But you liked it, didn't you?"

"Yes. I have to admit it was fun," she flashed him a smile and slouched all over the couch. "I can't see why I never took that Tate boat before. I guess I must love the Tube," she grinned, "the agitation, the crowd, being bullied around." She tossed her pumps under the coffee table and cuddled on the sofa. "I'm afraid I had too much to eat," she yawned, her hand on her stomach. "If I want to pay you back for dinner I'll have to call my bank for a loan."

"Why don't you relax and stop talking about money?" he said, slumping down on the other side of the couch and extending his legs before him.

"Money is a big part of my life. It is when you happen to not have enough of it."

He sighed. "I'm sorry Barbie, I did not mean to upset you. I am being rude… again. You have a way of making me reflect on my ability at being a gentleman. Next time, you can decide on our program for the day and pay for the full extent of it if you like."

So there's going to be a next time she thought -- after all she'd said and the way she'd staged her way out of their burgeoning relationship. She had to admit that in the end it was indeed turning into a nice experience. Not only she could enjoy the moment and be herself --since they didn't have to start from scratch, but they were so comfortable around each other like an odd old couple that it was simply great to be with him. If it was a dream she will wake up eventually, no reason to anticipate the downfall.

"You're sure you're up for a fish and chips and a day at the zoo?" she giggled.

"Why not? I'm much more of an aquarium fan but we can save the aquarium for a third date if you want."

She gazed at him intently, tilting her head up, her eyes partly hidden behind her fringe. He stared back longingly with unwavering attention.

"Barbara, I have no idea why I never told you before. You are beautiful," he said perfectly still, his voice altered. He draped his arm on the back of the sofa but she was out of reach and his fingers waved helplessly at her. His mouth twisted slightly, he furrowed his brow, his eyebrows knitted in a questioning frown.

"I want you too," she sighed, stretching out to him. Their bodies met half way.

-o-

She fell back on the mattress, her damp hair glued to her forehead and sweat sticking the sheets to her body. He turned to her in the same motion, his arm imprisoning her breast, his lips on hers. With her womb pressed against his hip, she could feel the waves of her receding climax and she kissed him back.

Her old boss had changed into a fantastic and unexpected lover over night. It was just plain frightening to discover this entirely new aspect of him. As he said candidly in the cab this very same morning -- one might as well say eons ago, they were compatible; to be more accurate, they were quite a match. She had no idea one can experience such pleasure with an old 'friend'. Now she understood the ladies room gossip even if she doubted he'd slept with half the female population of Scotland Yard as rumour has it.

Moreover, she was surprised at her own response to his touch. She felt powerful and in control not to mention it was simply divine to finally 'have' him all to herself. She smiled at her unintended double-entendre thought. The glimmer of the clock caught her eye and she realised it was almost three. She grinned to herself replaying his morning excuse in her head. Despite his age, his stamina seemed more than intact to her and merely showing no sign of lessening at all. Should they had ended up in her bed after breakfast, chances were they would have stayed there all day long.

"Water," she said in his ear and he nodded against her face panting. She put a light hand on his chest. His heart was fast and strong. "I can't… your leg? Please?"

He laughed softly and untangled from her with a moan of regret.

"I think I will change the bed and have a shower."

She nodded absently and sat in the bed.

"Don't you hear something?"

"No. What am I supposed to listen to?"

"I don't know it's as if the telly… --probably someone next door…"

He jumped out of bed, put on a luxurious striped pyjama bottom and disappeared downstairs. She heard the sound of muffled voices and laughters. She folded a sheet and tied it around her like she would of a pareo and cautiously followed in his steps down to the living room. The glass stair was cold under her feet and she shivered despite the temperature of the room.

"… and then you should have seen Winnie. He was…"

"Jack?"

"Hi Barb! You look wonderful, nice outfit," Buchanan said, placing his hands on her bare shoulders and a big smack on her cheek.

She blushed and searched Lynley for back up. He was fixing some fancy cocktails oblivious of the situation and of the late hour.

"Jack closed the case today so he went out to paint the town red with the boys," he explained, his back on her. "Would you mind finding some elevator music from the shelf darling," he asked casually.

Jack flashed her a huge grin and got the thumbs up. "YES!" he mouthed.

"Unless you don't rule out that I play some Mahler or Tchaikovsky?"

"I've got it under control Tommy," said Buchanan. He picked a CD out from its box and said loudly. "Can't you see that the girl is freezing to death? Give her something to drink for crying out loud or I will have to take care of her myself."

She sat on the sofa and waited for her personal hell to break loose. She was not Lynley. She could not face such an awkward situation. She had no idea of how to behave right now. She was playing in her head every conversation she had had with Buchanan about Lynley, her long-time infatuation for him and her increasing frustration. He had been somehow the architect of their affair and still it felt extremely painful to have him be a witness of his success in the middle of the night.

The first notes of Debussy's _Suite bergamasque_ played and she relieved in the music wishing she had stayed in bed.

When she woke up, it was almost day outside and she was alone still lying on the sofa. Someone had placed a soft mohair blanket upon her. She took her time to get up and went back silently to Lynley's bedroom. She was not surprised to find him sprawled across the bed and fast asleep. She retrieved her clothes from the armchair and locked herself inside the bathroom cursing against her apparel. It would have been so simple to put back on her usual baggy clothes and sneakers. Why on earth would she want to be all dressed up at dawn on a Sunday morning? She managed to get ready in no time and sneaking out through the back door she soon found herself in the street. She turned off her phone and hurried up to the nearest station.

-o-

Her mother was really doing fine in her nursing home. The staff was kind and obviously cared about their patients and anyway her mum has always been easy to live with. There was no difference now that she was suffering from dementia. Her mind might be gone she was still nice and talkative.

Havers was glad she had taken some time to change before going to see her. Not that her black dress did not suit her but she felt that she had to sport a more cheerful look when she was visiting. She had chosen a green and purple silk chiffon flower print blouse with half length sleeves and cropped black corduroy trousers with a thin leather belt along with a purple wool peacoat with a large collar and a green fluffy scarf. It was the first time she had ever tried to drive her car – any car that is, with a pair of middle heel shoes and it was a complete success. Her new ankle boots were simply perfect. She could not believe that she was actually in love with a pair of shoes. She was beginning to understand the importance of clothing. It was easier to be heard when you could impose on people and as a matter of fact, the way you look is often paramount.

She had listened happily to her mum describing her latest cruise to the Aegean Islands during lunch. After her nap, they strolled in the gardens to the river and gave some crumbs to aquatic birds circling in the vicinity of the bank. After tea, she hugged her and left but her heart was full of conflicting feelings.

Her mother barely knew who she was now and every time she spent the day with her, she had to go through the same terrible process of reminding her repeatedly. It was even more painful since her memories happened to be so unreliable lately. She knew that eventually, her mum's mind will be gone for good in a place of her own. She should have talked to her about her affair with Lynley. This was her perfect opportunity to get it off her chest and she had missed it.

She walked slowly back to her car, wishing she had never quit smoking and contemplating the state of her life. The last thirty six hours had been a ride on a roller coaster she had no control of. Maybe lust was making her lose perspective. For the time being, it was only a fling and some casual sex, not a true relationship. She was right to begin with; she should have let him go the morning before, instead of following him to his apartment and finding herself bound by something she was not ready to deal with. But will she ever, she thought. It was not too late to back away. It would be easy never to meet him again even if she decided to stay at the Met. She opened the car door and pushed some trash onto the floor. She sat her bag in the glove compartment and placed her hands on the wheel.

She had to admit she had got carried away and now she was lost. She did not want this thing with Lynley to stop and she did not want it to continue either. She hated that she felt trapped. It was a lot easier to lust after him and blame everything from her background to the bad weather for her inability to seduce him. Now not only she knew that he fancied her but he had been far more straightforward about his feelings than she was capable of.

That was a disorderly and confusing upheaval for her at an utterly disturbing time in her life. She could mull over the situation as long as she liked, he was definitely out of her league. She was a common girl and in a way he was more than right; she was going to become his Eliza Doolittle and that was something she would never be able to abide and she will eventually resent him for it. She did not fool herself. She could dress up all she wants, she'll never look like a lady let alone be one. Even if this last day was a radical landmark in their relation, it did not mean that they could not go back to the way they were before. It will be hard to forget it ever happened but not impossible; they'll find a way.

She started the engine and left the car park. It was still early, she should avoid the heavy Sunday traffic. She turned on the radio and began to sing along to the Fray's '_Look after You_'. She sped up and headed North back to Acton.

-o-

The minute she passed the corner of her street, she could spot his car parked under the street lamp. She pulled over next the Bristol and checked if he was still inside. The car was deserted which was news since he seemed to value it more that any other of his possessions. Fidgeting with her keys, she walked nervously to the hallway, bracing herself in anticipation against his possible outburst. His shadow pacing before her front door confirmed what she had been afraid of. Biting her lip, she hurried to meet him.

"Where have you been?"

"That would be good evening to you too sir. If you don't mind…"

She opened the door averting his eyes and invited him inside with a nod. She hang her coat, put her keys and bag on the counter, the kettle on, retrieved two mugs from the rack and finally turned back to face him.

"I've been worried sick!"

"Don't do this. You don't have to worry about me. You never did before and nothing changed in this department."

"You did not answer to your phone all day… and— I did worry about you before, you're being unfair."

"I turned it off. Did it not give you a clue? I wanted some time to think over, to clear my head of all this mess."

"So it's a mess to you? Is it why you fled from my apartment this morning, to think? At least, be honest with me Havers, you've always been, that's what I like most about you."

"Don't be such a smug bastard Lynley," she snapped back. "Listen, I haven't slept in two days. I'm tired. I don't want to talk, I don't have to explain myself. If you're not happy with that, you can leave right now. I never said I wanted to see you tonight."

"Is it how it's going to be? I will have to wait for a phone call or a sign? What kind of a relationship is that?"

She switched on the lights and thrust her bag under the coffee table. She sat down on the sofa and slammed the mugs on it spilling half of their content.

"Spending a few hours in bed does not qualify as a relationship sir. I have things to do apart from roaming museums and hitting the sack with you," she said titling her head up, her voice dangerously low. "There are these memory loss management sessions and go see the shrink and talk to Hillier."

"Not on a Sunday, there's not."

"Today was not different. I had to go and see my mum today, it's been a while since… and I-- I wanted to do this on my own, have some quality time with her. Surely you are not going to argue about that."

"Ok."

He sat on the armchair facing her, obviously putting the table between them on purpose. She took one of the mugs her hands warming on it and seemed to relax.

"The fact is I did not want to stumble upon Jack in your kitchen this morning. It's been an… ordeal to see him last night. I did not want to put my reaction to the test again."

"You don't trust him to respect our… secret?"

"Yes I do, it has nothing to do with that. I… I can't –well I don't know exactly. I can't be with you when somebody I know is around. You do understand right?"

"Well, actually I don't but I can try."

"Oh god, you know exactly what I mean. You're a man. For the rest of the world, you scored with me. And what does it make me at the end of the day?"

"Havers, I don't want to have this conversation ever again. You know my feelings. You're not part of a game or a contest. And I don't give a damn about what people might think or not think about us."

"Well, I do. You don't have anything to lose. From my point of view, I have everything to lose can't you see?"

"Is it why you want to talk to Hillier? Is it about us?"

"No, it's not."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Do as you damn please sir, I don't care. I'm not sure I still want to be a detective and ever work at the Met again after what happened in Cornwall. When you lose you bearings, it gives you a different perception."

"That's the letter I saw on your laptop isn't it?"

"You've been snooping in my stuff?"

"Your laptop was on the table and…"

"… and as much as I'd like to keep you all to myself, it's getting late and you're going to have to go back to work tomorrow," she said standing stiffly and walking to the door.

He did not move.

"What if I don't?"

"That is not my concern."

"You're throwing me out?"

She did not respond and swung the door open.

"Good night Tommy."


	19. Chapter 19

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

The characters belong to E. George and the BCC. I'm just playing for a little while.

I guess this story is almost finished... but not quite ;)

**PART 1****8**

It has been the worse dull grey morning ever and now after an even worse afternoon, Lynley was facing the prospect of yet another evening alone filled with self-pity and remorse. Files have been piling up in his office while he was in Howenstow. Being back to the Met was not as much fun as he would have imagined now that Havers was out of the picture working off the radar along with Buchanan and out of his life after his brilliant move. If he was unsuccessful at making her change her mind, he might have to resign his position when she comes back or at least ask for a transfer. Working in Cornwall could prove to be colourful, he smiled reluctantly.

He closed the door and sat heavily behind his desk staring absently at his files. In four days, she had not picked up her phone once to give him a call or cared to answer his calls on her mobile. He glanced at his watch; it was too soon to leave another message on her answering machine. He probably sounded desperate already not to mention pathetic. They had been friends for years but in two days he had succeeded into setting her against him, it was simply mind-boggling. Even in his book, it took him usually longer to mess things up. But romancing Havers has proven from the start to be an adventurous endeavour.

Nothing short of his best behaviour and creativity was required because she was not willing to accept the regular routine he performed to entertain his female friends. No diner, no fancy evening, no Champagne… Accustomed to sparing no expense, he was deeply challenged. Since she insisted on paying her share of just about everything, it had turned out to be impossible and cut his inspiration short. Apart from taking her to a fun fair or for a walk in the park, there was not much he was allowed to, and he'd be lucky to buy her candy floss and a stout, or if she was in one of her moods to offer a glass of tap water to wash it down.

On the work front, he was facing a dead end as well. Working on a tough case with a new recruit, the young Allyson Morgan, he wished he could have asked of her what he always found natural to ask of Havers, intuition, know how and a little common sense. But she had neither and was merely happy with keeping his files up to date and getting him coffee and sandwiches. In no need of a clerk but of a real copper and on a different level of a true friend, Lynley was getting more and more impatient, huffy and out of sorts by the minute.

He had noticed that Nkata seemed to assert the situation perfectly and kept to himself his usual banter and clever remarks. As for Lafferty, he had an acute perception of the human mind for someone whose job was related to dead people. Behaving like his usual sarcastic self, Stuart had even managed to let slip some crude innuendos about his relation with Havers in their recent conversations.

Buchanan had been assigned to the St Pancras Meeting statue killer case and was spending most of his time in Somers Town. Jack talked to her on the phone on a daily basis but if she had mentioned anything about last Sunday, he did not share. They met for breakfast and Lynley would drop him later around town or at the Met. On Tuesday, he gave Jack a lift to Havers' to get his stuff. All his belongings were neatly packed and piled against the kitchen counter in a very _non-Havers-ly_ fashion with a 'wish you luck' note. She was not home, making it clear that she wanted to stay away from him… --or he was getting paranoid and she was busy elsewhere, he said to himself.

The prospect of spending his next weekend without an explanation or a word from her was less than engaging but he had not the faintest idea of how to proceed to reach out to her. With any other woman, he would have sent flowers and an invitation for Le Cirque du Soleil's new show at the Albert Hall or Alan Ayckbourn's triptych of plays at The Old Vic and hoped that they'd make up over La Langoustine and a Pinot Noir at L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon near Covent Garden. But it was totally out of the question with Barbara.

Searching her computer was an unforgivable move. If she had cut him loose for reading only one letter, he could not begin to imagine how she would react if she discovered the full extent of his deception. Now that they were estranged, he could not confess what he was really up to and get it off his chest. To ask for Jack's help was out of the question and Winston was mastering in the art of avoiding him at all costs. He checked on his mobile for a message from her he could have missed and was ready to speed dial her again when his phone rang.

"Lynley."

"If you're not busy, I would like to see you immediately," said Deputy Commissioner Hillier in a commanding voice.

"On my way sir."

-o-

"To make a long story short Lynley, if you can't find anything else to incriminate them, they simply walk. And you know what it means."

"No pressure," he sighed with a nod.

Hillier stood up and came closer to Lynley who was sitting across his desk, his hands on his lap, projecting his usual poised image.

Lynley crossed his legs in a move that seemed defensive although it was merely to hide a flare of irritation. He stared up at his superior. "Why not ask the Financial Services Authorities for their help when you're at it?" he said with a smirk.

"They should handle this case more efficiently than we can."

"You cannot be serious!" he said loudly, almost losing his temper at his superior provocative stance.

"You understand that I am not too keen either about the alternative," confirmed Hillier who perched on the corner of his desk and leaned towards him invading his personal space. "What they did isn't about waving a water pistol at a cashier's head."

"Good heavens, they almost bankrupted the Midland Bank..."

"And I have no doubt that given enough time, they would have eventually succeeded. You have forty eight extra hours --tops, Lynley. After that, the case is off my hands," he said, pointing a finger to the ceiling and the powers that be with a meaningful look. "Let's say we reconvene on Saturday, nine sharp and decide what's next."

"I'll do my best sir. Our men are working round the clock. If there's something to be found they will find it."

Lynley was about to get up but Hillier made it clear he was not done. "What about Morgan?"

"What about her sir?"

"Listen Lynley, I reckon she's not Havers but I hardly think she qualifies. Is she even close to being of any assistance to you?"

"It's her first assignment sir, I'm sure she'll pull it through --eventually."

"You're too kind.," Hillier sighed. He tuned his back to Lynley and sat back opposite him at his desk. "Speaking of Havers, how is she doing? I heard she stayed at your place in Cornwall for a bit after her kidnapping," he asked casually.

"Yes she did sir," Lynley said, trying to look as relaxed as he was tense. "I am afraid I haven't talked to her lately." At least this part was true if not totally accurate, he pondered. "She's doing fine." _I think._

"After these last weeks in counselling, she completed her evaluation on Tuesday; she will continue her work with her support group for a while though," explained Hillier.

_That __should explain why she was not at her place when we gathered Jack's stuff_.

"The shrink seems to think that she's fit for duty."

"Don't you get me started on psychiatric evaluation sir," Lynley scolded.

"I won't. You two had not been working together for some time but would you say she was given all the help she needed?"

"Absolutely sir, she was fine last time we met."

"And when would that be?"

"Err… last week… well less than a week actually."

"Nothing I should be aware of, anything unusual?"

"No sir."

Hillier stared him in the eyes and Lynley wondered if for some unthinkable reason he heard anything of the unbelievable turn taken by their relation over the last week end.

"We won't have a conversation about her moonlighting for Buchanan and you, if you must know," he said. Lynley remained stony-faced. Hillier's mouth twitched but he did not comment further. "I just want you to know that she made an appointment with me," Hillier finally said.

"When will you meet her sir, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't. As a matter of fact, she was here this morning. I'm surprised she did not pay you a visit," he smiles triumphantly.

"Maybe she did. I was interviewing suspects all morning," Lynley lied gracefully.

"Well, she came to the Met to hand me her resignation --personally. I won't dispute it came as a bit of a shock to me. She passed the board to inspector and I can't see why she would quit now."

If Lynley was taken aback, he did not show. "She passed?"

"A couple of months ago, before I sent her to Cornwall actually. I had to remind her of her success because she apparently blocked it from her long-term memories. This amnesia of hers is clearly not transitory but she seems to handle the situation rather well I must say. You should know that I intended to promote her to Inspector as soon she was ready to come back, but she reacted in a way I would never have expected -even from her, after the time and energy she spent working in the Department."

"What did she say? Being promoted was her goal -ultimately."

"Well, it is embarrassing, Lynley. She wanted to make sure that you have nothing to do with it. She said that she won't tolerate any favour. It was funny enough because I always had in mind that you were the one keeping her form achieving this goal and hindering her career. I would bet that she put it on hold to maintain your… association. And don't get me wrong, with her education and background, you're probably the best thing that happened to her even if DI Knight was the catalyst in the end. Anyway, she didn't change her mind after I broke the news, so I refused her resignation and told her to think twice about her decision."

"I see."

"For the time being I will keep her notice with me as long as she needs." He opened his drawer. "Here is a copy of her letter Lynley. Read it."

_For Christ'__s sake, I should have waited. Hillier is handing me the letter on a silver plate_.

"I want you to go and see Havers and talk her out of it. Do you understand me? I have some ambitions for her. She's one of our best assets. Do everything you can Lynley, whatever it takes."

-o-

Lynley strode across the detective pool drawing everyone's attention to his tall and decided figure and went past Nkata. "You're with me," he said in an unquestionable tone. Winston, who was on the phone, shrugged apologetically and made a face. "NOW!" shouted Lynley without slowing down.

"Sorry Stuart, I will have to call you back," said Nkata before hanging up.

"Let's go," added Lynley, a cryptic expression on his face. He rushed out and Nkata grabbed his coat and followed suit. Less than ten minutes later, they were seated in the nearest pub in front of a basket of chips and a lager.

"We have to talk."

"We have to talk?"

"You're a good friend of Havers, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

"You've known her for what? Ten, eleven years?"

"Fourteen, sir."

"Fourteen years? How is that possible? Well, never mind," he said before Winston could answer. "You saw her this morning, what did she tell you?"

"Not much I'm afraid. She was here to see Hillier. I mean Deputy Commissioner Hillier, sir."

"Drop it Winston," cut Lynley. So she did talk to Nkata but did not even bother to look for him and say hello, he thought with a hint of anger and jealousy. _That is bad_. "Have you any idea why would she want to quit?"

"She didn't tell. I mean, she kind of did but it did not make sense anyway. She said she was not sure she wanted to be on the job any longer because she could not be your partner. I told her that it was not good enough. You haven't been a team for over two years now, so it was hardly news. But she insisted that being teamed up with anyone else will never have the same appeal and that she had lost interest. She must be really upset because you just don't quit New Scotland Yard do you?" he said with an exaggerate Brixton twang.

"She told you she passed the board?"

"Yes obviously and she's very supportive of me being promoted to Constable," he grinned trying to defuse their tensed exchange.

"Is there anything else I should know?" asked a very bossy Lynley. He took another gulp of his beer and peered expectedly at Winston's face.

"Like what? I'm afraid I…"

"Let's begin with her new look for instance?"

"Err… I bet you noticed that she doesn't even look like… well --like Havers lately," said Winston with caution. "When she went shopping with Sandy and Lauren last month, she totally transformed into someone else."

"My sentiment exactly. Do you know why? Is she looking for a new job and getting herself ready for interviews? Did she meet someone?" Lynley regretted immediately his last question. He was out of line.

Winston gave him an amazed look but didn't comment. "I was not under the impression that she was seeking professional change sir. When it comes to her personal life, I'm afraid you'll have to ask her," he added rather dryly. "If she's broken-hearted, she did not confide in me, that's a fact. But she doesn't strike me as someone who would resign because she was ditched. I saw her rat-arsed once over a fellow, but she would not tell me who he was, she was probably afraid that me and the boys would go after him and teach him a lesson."

"I see. And when was that?"

"About two years ago I would say, three tops."

_Was it __because of me? When Helen and I tried to make our marriage work again, Havers talked me into it herself. Oh my god, have I been blind all this time or am I just the conceited prick she always said I was for even thinking I could be responsible for it?_

"And you cannot dismiss that there are times when you simply feel like jacking it all in," said Winston matter-of-factly.

"You think it's a possibility?"

"I have absolutely no idea, but her attitude got me thinking," he said immediately, "and I'm still trying to understand… but you've got to know that none of us wants her to quit. Well, except maybe for Gordon and Jamison, and I'm not even sure. We're all very fond of Barbara. She's been around for some time now and she's made good friends in the Department; everyone knew that she's been stressed out lately. I figured that as soon as she was cleared by Dr. Easton, she'll be up and running. It's not like her to stay away from work."

"Any hunch on what might keep her?"

"That's exactly what Stuart asked me. Actually, she told me last week that she was still having bad dreams about that man, you know."

"Her abductor, Terndell?"

"That would be the one. She still can't remember what happened. It's like he could have done anything to her and still get away with it."

"Well, technically he did not escape his punishment."

"The fact that he turned into a crisp doesn't make it any different to her. In her dreams, he's very much alive, it doesn't take a shrink to see that," he scolded.

"I had no idea she was still having nightmares about her kidnapping."

"And that's precisely why I can't understand why Easton cleared her. If Barbara doesn't come back to work, it's because she's frightened. She just can't get over it. It has othing to do with partnering with you or having cold feet about the job. I'm thinking she didn't tell you because she probably didn't want to alarm you. She was a bit upset after her stay in your… at your, err… your place?"

"In Howenstow?"

So her primarily concern had been to protect and shield him from whatever was going on. It has always been for his sake, not hers, he thought. He never questioned her well-being, taking for granted that she was alright because he had found her. The fact that she was physically out of harm's way at the mansion did not mean she had made her peace. Terndell's death was irrelevant as long as she did not come to terms with what happened. Her amnesia far from keeping her safe was dragging her up to hit rock bottom. He could not believe that he had missed the whole point.

"Stuart and me, we tried to cheer her up but it doesn't work," Winston nodded. "And I think there's nothing her American colleague can do either. He told me that they spent a couple of days throwing away things she's been keeping like forever. Jack said she totally cleared her closets. She kind of got rid of about everything except for a pair of battered trainers, a couple of baggy clothes and her old parka. She was intending a complete makeover. That's why the girls took her around town for some major shopping."

"I see," said Lynley though he could not see diddlysquat.

"The girls did a fantastic job with her," said Winston, "they stretched her clothing quids to the limit. She projects such a confident persona that no one teased her when she went back to the Met all dolled up."

He chewed on cold chips and gave a look around before returning his attention to Lynley, withdrawn deep into his thoughts, and decided to keep his interrogations to himself. An uncomfortable silence ensued fortunately fully occupied by the patrons' turmoil. He realised that he had been holding his breath when Lynley's mobile rang, startling them both.

"We have to go," said Lynley briefly. He stood up, left a few notes on the table and added. "It seems that Thompson found some relevant information. Maybe we will close this case before the end of the day."

"I'm glad we talked sir and if you don't mind me saying, she really could use your help. She thinks very highly of you. And as her best friend, you should do whatever you can to get her through this."

Lynley flashed him an astonished smile and they left the pub.

-o-

Lynley was sitting in his car parked on his usual spot at the Met, focusing on the bright yellow sign placed on the wall before the sports sedan hood.

WHEN FLOODED DO NOT PARK

It seemed totally nonsensical. If he was unable to make heads or tails out of it, he could credit his exhaustion. After two hectic days, they were finally able to close the case and he was glad his investigation was over without turning to the FSA for help. Thompson's finds had proven to be decisive and gave him foundation to respond in full swing and arrest the violators before they abscond.

Now that he had met with Hillier for the umpteenth time and filed miles of paperwork with Morgan's help, he was free to go looking for Havers. Taking his leave before Hillier asked him to organize a press conference to gloat about their success was a brilliant move. He was tired of being pushed in the spotlights every time the Met was looking for a poster boy. Lord Asherton's professional success and the press; he should write a book about it someday along with his essential "Failing your personal life for Dummies" handbook.

The car park went back to darkness and Lynley found himself surrounded by shadows and only disturbed by the haphazardly roaming sound and flares of cars in the distance. Hands on the wheel, he stayed still for some time trying to focus. Another sleepless night had taken his toll on him and he wanted nothing more than getting things back to normal –whatever normalcy it was. For the time being, he was more preoccupied about Barbara than New Scotland Yard politics. She has not responded to her phone or mobile and her box would refuse extra calls. He was beyond worried; he had to go and see her, force her door if necessary. The Barbara he knew could take care of herself in almost every circumstance. She was tough, she was determined; she was close to fearless and known to go off the deep end –on occasions. He was not so sure about the new Barbara but he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. He still expected from her that she would not leave him hanging out to dry unless she was not only offended by what he had done but truly deeply hurt.

Her last call to Jack was four days ago but he seemed to think that she had made up her mind to pack and go on to wherever she was planning to spend her special holiday. And leaving her mobile home, not likely, he thought. Lynley could not help believing that if she had left, she would have told Jack or Winston and it added to his anxiety.

His phone rang loudly inside his coat pocket. "Lynley." His voice echoed in the underground car park.

"Tommy, Buchanan here. I just got a call from the British Transport Police. They found a suspect package in the Eurostar's dispatch area."

"In Saint Pancras International? What do you need me for? Is it related to your statue killer case?" he asked impatiently.

Jack did not answer. "You are aware that any unattended luggage is to be confiscated and destroyed. But when the BTP found a tag with the Met phone number they took their chances and opened it. A sheet was clipped to the inside lid of the luggage with name and address, cell phone number, home phone, work phone and travel itinerary both in English and French."

"Why am I interested?"

"They called the cell number and the tote they found inside the unclaimed suitcase rang in their office."

"Jack, I'm not in the mood for riddles right now. It's not even seven a.m. and I haven't slept in two days. All I want is to go back home and have a shower before heading to Barbara's to make amends. Please, go the point if there's any."

"They ruled out the terrorist threat," explained Jack who remained unruffled. "They called us the minute they retrieved her badge. Tommy, it's Barbara's… -- the bag, the luggage, it's hers."

It was not happening. What were the odds she could have been attacked twice in the same year? "Hers?" He stepped out of the car clutching his phone to his ear. Staggering to the nearest pillar he caught his breath and punched the switch. A gloomy light replaced the shadows.

"Yes, definitely hers, but they have no evidence she was attacked. I sent them some pictures, they will check CCTV footage and canvass the premises but I'm not very optimistic. It's a huge place."

Still it was possible. Barbara already been shot twice; once really, since she was not physically hurt the second time. At the time, it had dawned on him that he was not ready to lose her. In the midst of his failing marriage, he had gained comfort and strength in having her as a friend. He was even less prepared today with Helen gone. He could not contemplate losing her now. Not before they had a chance to talk. Not ever.

"Did your Jack the ripper copycat claim anything?"

She might not be missing because she had been mugged or kidnapped. Despite of his blatant scare that she was in danger she could have been simply robbed. She was on her way home and unable to contact them.

"No. Not yet."

"Good."

It didn't make sense. If it was a robbery she would have found a way to let them know.

"I'll keep you posted."

Trying to hold on to a more positive stance, he locked the Bristol and rushed back to his office. Neglecting the lift, he climbed stairs four at a time to release steam and attempt to organize his thoughts.

-o-

_Tell me what you think: I'd like to hear from you_ :)


	20. Chapter 20

**The Inspector Lynley Mysteries**

**Call Me Daddy**

_note: I'm only playing with the characters. They belong to Ms George and the BBC ;)_

_I know this ending is a bit farfetched but here it is anyway. enjoy --and thank you for the time you spent with me reading this first attempt!_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-**  
**

**EPILOGUE**

If she was out of town, she would not leave with a rucksack, her passport and her credit card, he thought. Now that she had transformed over night into this outstanding sophisticated young woman, there was no turning back. She needed a lot more than the minimal stuff she was used to carrying around when she was on the job out of London. Hence the baggage BTP found --undamaged. Undamaged was the key really.

Jack was right, she might have been attacked, mugged, ransacked, kidnapped – or else. Out of foolish positive incoherent expectations, he was bracing for the worse and trying to avoid any sign of commiseration. Rumour has it he was bad luck and that Havers was doomed from the start because of him.

Half the Department was on the look-out, patrols have been dispatched to Acton and to Saint Pancras and he was informed on an hourly basis of any progress on the other side of the Channel by his colleagues from the Police Judiciaire in Paris should she had taken the Eurostar and reached her primary destination.

He managed to retrieve his cup from the coffee machine without burning his hand or spilling half of it on the fresh pressed trousers he always kept in his office in case of emergency. Giving an absent nod to the new guy from accounting, he strolled as leisurely as he could to his office wishing he had met Lafferty or Winston on his way back. The wait was killing him and he could have used some support from her friends and colleagues now that everyone blamed him. But with everybody already looking for her, chances were he was not going to find someone to talk too any time soon except for Evans or Hillier and that was the last thing he wanted.

An exuberant voice and vigorous slamming of doors made him raise his head to a very familiar figure.

"Sorry I'm late, sir. Something was wrong with my clock, well, I guess," Havers pondered with a big grin, "and Jack did not bother to wake me up this morning," she added cheerfully.

She was standing before him, in her battered parka, her hair dishevelled, in her plain ordinary baggy trousers and zipped sweater, her huge shoulder bag crossed over her chest.

"I guess he was called early on some case, there were coppers crawling from every single crack of the road this morning. Never seen so many in one spot," she laughed. "To make matter even worse, I had to take the tube, can you believe it but my car literally died on me. Well, anyway… --I'm glad to be back to the Met. What did I miss? Any idea whom I'm going to work with? And where is everybody?"

She went to her desk, Lynley trailing in her wake, and threw her coat and bag on the back of her chair. The bag opened and a free daily, two energy bars, a water bottle and a small pack of tissues fell to the ground. She did not make a move to put them back in and simply shrugged.

"What's wrong sir? Am I wearing my sweater inside out?"

She made a show at looking at her reflection in the glass door behind her and tucked her hair behind her ears in a very typical gesture. Hands inside her jeans pockets, she tilted her head, pouting her mouth.

"I have to confess that my last week in Cornwall was awful if you don't mind me telling, sir, I mean I don't want to be rude, you know with your Cornish roots and all. But I don't see how even you could have put up with these caricatures of police officers. They did everything they could to ruin my investigation, can you believe it? Those retarded pricks," she added, slumping down on her chair.

"What in heavens are you doing Havers? Why are you here?"

"Hey! Good morning to you too, sir. You beat me for the coffee, I see. Did you get one for me already by any chance?"

"Havers, please, will you stop for a minute. Why are you back? I mean, how can you possibly be here?"

"Huh… I work here, remember? Why do you ask? Miss me already?" she grinned.

Lynley sat his cup on her desk and put his hands on her shoulders. "Would you just calm down… --please? Were you in Saint Pancras International?"

She stared at him quizzically. "Why would I? I don't need to connect to Saint Pancras to get to the Met."

He sighed. "Tell me, I know the doc gave you clearance and you're supposed to be…"

She frowned. "Wait a minute. What doctor? What are you talking about? I'm fine, thank you very much. Want to send me to the doctor? You're having a bad day or what?"

Lynley exhaled soundly and sat on the edge of her desk. He grasped his drink more nervously that he would have liked to and took a sip, peering at her over the rim of the cup. She was real and she seemed unharmed.

His mind was in overdrive. The present situation reminded him why he was not fond of science fiction --at all. There's nothing logical or predictable in science fiction. When you watch a science fiction movie or read a science fiction book and really enjoy it, you must be prepared to confront an impending ultimate threat that writers enjoy using --the fantastic reset button.

If it was written somewhere in the great book of inescapable events that it might happen in real life, why did it have to happen to them?

Well, possibly it was not so bad after all, he thought. Lots of things had happened during these last weeks which should be best forgotten.

He plastered a smile on his face. It was easy. Havers was a real eye-catcher this morning despite her shapeless clothes.

"Please, would you come to my office, we must have a talk," he said smile finally reaching his eyes. "Make yourself comfortable, I will get you a coffee."

"Extra sugar please," she said.


End file.
